Iell Pentin
by AnadoraBlack
Summary: [Sequel to Rhenio mì Ennor but can be read on its own] Baraz, daughter of Ariana and Bofur, had promised her mother to stay clear of the dooming events that would one day befall Middle-Earth. But her love of Hobbits, Elves, Dwarves and Men alike will push her to take part, against her best wishes, to the infamous Fellowship of the Ring. (Combined books/movies verse)
1. Prologue: Friendly warning

_A/N: Welcome readers and welcome back to those who read Rhenio mì Ennor, my previous fanfic based on Tolkien's work! I welcome you to a new part of my Lord of the Rings addiction, and this, although it was meant as a sequel to Rhenio..., can be read without having read the "first" part before. I will quickly presen to you what has happened in the previous instalment so you can immediately jump into this part. And to those who had read it in its time, then, it will serve as a quick reminder._

_I do really hope you will like it. As I did before, I will jump back and forth into both the books and the movies' worlds, but I will try to remain as canon as possible. Although, of course, my OCs will be presented._

_So, enjoy the ride, I do really hope you'll like it!_

_Last thing last: due to the amount of work such a story demands (I can't tell you how many hours I spend on ONE chapter), I will update only twice a month, maybe once more when I feel like it. I already have ten chapters at the ready, but you never know how life's gonna treat you, do you?_

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**_Disclaimer: Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

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_**Playlist for this chapter: **Axe or sword? - Misty Mountains cold (Dwarves version) in the An unexpected journey OST._

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_**Previously, in Rhenio mì Ennor...**_

_Ariana, an ordinary human from our world, finds a Hobbit door in her bedroom one morning. Going through it, she stumbles upon Bilbo Baggins on the eve of his meeting with Gandalf the Grey and the thirteen dwarves. She joins the party._

_Bilbo, too scared to leave on an adventure, refuses to help Thorin and his kin. Ariana, who calls herself Ari, is a huge LOTR fan and agrees to take the part in Bilbo's stead. Thorin is reluctant at first, but accepts._

_As she is thrown into the story she knows so well, Ari can't help but altering things as she goes: Bifur dies in the Misty Mountains, killed by the goblins; she gives Bilbo's surname to Gollum in the game of riddles so the story doesn't change sixty years later; she befriends Bard the Bowman and helps him recover his Black Arrow before they leave for the Lonely Mountain; while her unconscious body is carried through Erebor after Smaug left for Laketown, Bofur finds the Arkenstone and gives it to her; she takes it to negotiate with Thranduil the Elvenking and retrieves Gandalf and his cousin Radagast who have joined to fight; in the Battle of Five Armies, Fíli dies saving her, Thorin dies of his wounds, but Kíli survives._

_Kíli is offered Erebor's crown, but he refuses it and bows down to his uncle's cousin, Daïn Ironfoot. He moves back to the Blue Mountains and to his mother Dís._

_Ari befriends several dwarves during her journey: Bofur, with whom she eventually falls in love; Fíli and Kíli; and Oin._

_As a fan, she carries with her several tokens of Tolkien's world: a copy of Nenya, Galadriel's Ring, that she wears as a locket; and a Leaf of Loríen brooch._

_Ari and Bofur leave Middle-Earth through the door in Bilbo's gardens and get married in our world, eventually going back to Middle-Earth three years later as Ari is carrying their first-born._

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**Prologue: Friendly warning**

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_**2987 T.A.**_

* * *

The Hobbit hole was quiet as the sun set on Hobbiton. The only sound was the cracking of the fire in the hearth as the figure of an old lady sat in a chair, her eyes caressing the red cover of an old book, her eyes glossy with tears unshed.

The figure of a younger woman then entered the room. She was looking in her twenties, long, flowing red hair reaching past her waist as she absent-mindedly passed a comb through it. Her bright blue eyes settled on the other woman, and she went to sit opposite her.

"Mother? What is that?"

The old woman's eyes lifted and met the younger one's gaze with a fierce sadness in her stare.

Ariana was 74 years-old, but felt much much older when she was gazing at her daughter Baraz, who looked ever young despite her 43 years of life.

Baraz shared the blood of both human and dwarf, and it gave her the lasting life of her father's kin. She had never looked upon her mother as an elderly, but Ariana couldn't help but feel old when she looked at her daughter. And even more so at her husband, Bofur, who, in his glorious 187th year of age, still looked like a forty-year-old human.

* * *

She glanced at the book's cover once more. It was blood red, with the golden form of an eye engraved on it. Around the eye, scripting could be made, although it was not written in a language known to many. It was written in Quenya, and it told of the blackest magic of all.

She sighed and put the book aside. "It's an old relic."

Baraz – it meant "red" in Khuzdûl and referred to her hair – leaned in and tried to read the title. "'The Lord of the Rings'. It sounds like something Uncle Bilbo would write..." she chuckled.

Ariana smiled softly at her daughter's joke. Yes, indeed, it sounded like something Bilbo Baggins would write. Although, technically, his nephew Frodo would write it. Much later...

* * *

Ariana's family had settled in Hobbiton when she and her husband Bofur came back to Middle-Earth. Although her husband took several trips to the Blue Mountains or Erebor to visit his relatives and friends, he had always been content to live among the quiet and peaceful people that were the Hobbits. And despite their at first refusal as they voiced their wish to build their own home in their precious Shire, most Hobbits were by then used to the peculiar family living on a lonely hill near Bag-End.

* * *

Ariana's fingers traced the markings on the cover again, and a sigh escaped her lips. Then, very slowly, she brought the book to the fireplace, and dropped it into the flames.

Baraz gasped and looked at her mother, blue eyes widening in utter surprise. "What-why did you do that?"

Ariana smiled sadly. "My darling...it is time I tell you a story..."

Baraz sat back in her chair and listened as her mother told her of her past, a past she knew from beginning to end. She gasped when her mother explained that some things should not have happened but that her presence had altered the timeline in a way that could never be ever mended. And that the book she had just put to death was proof that some things had yet to pass. And could not be altered.

Baraz put her comb to the side, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Some things have yet to pass? Some things concerning us, Mother?"

Ariana nodded, her eyes going to the remnants of the book still burning. "Concerning everyone in Middle-Earth, darling..." She then gazed back at her daughter, a wicked grin appearing on her lips, one of such neither Baraz nor her father ever saw anymore. "And I know you will want to be part of it..."

* * *

There was a silence, and then Ariana sat straighter, moaning a little as a pain in her back made itself known, and her stare was more serious, more solemn, than what it had been prior to that moment.

"Baraz, my darling, my little flower..." she smiled softly, but with a definite hint of sadness behind it too, "time will soon come when I am not part of this world anymore." Baraz opened her mouth as if to speak, but her mother raised a finger to silence her. "It is alright. I have lived a full and adventurous life, I have loved, I have lived, and I regret nothing. But I soon will not be there to counsel either you or your father..." She gazed into the fire again, but her gaze was far off, as if picturing another place, another time, maybe... "In a few years time, Uncle Bilbo will leave the Shire. And I want you and your father to leave with him."

"What?" Baraz stood and went to kneel before her mother, her hands encompassing one of Ariana's. "How do you know such things?"

"I know because it is fate. And fate is never to be trifled with." She placed her second hand on top of Baraz'. "Listen to me very carefully, my darling. When Uncle Bilbo decides to leave Hobbiton and to go visit Erebor one last time, go with him. Protect him. Go and visit your Uncle Kíli. For me."

Baraz stared at her mother, fear making its way in her so-juvenile eyes. "What is going to happen, Mother?"

"I can't tell you. But promise me. Promise me, my darling. Promise me that you will follow Bilbo."

Baraz nodded. "I promise."

Ariana closed her eyes, a sigh of relief leaving her tired body, and she leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead. They remained this way for a long moment, before one last demand left the human's lips. "And when the time comes...don't follow Frodo..."

Baraz didn't ask her why she could not follow a boy who was merely 19 at the time. It seemed too important...

And so it was.


	2. 1, A long-expected party

_A/N: Today I will offer you two chapters, so you can get acquainted with the characters and such. I do hope you like it! :)_

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_**_Disclaimer: Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**_

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**_Playlist for this chapter:_**_ Concerning Hobbits from the The Fellowship of the Ring OST; Old friends from the An unexpected journey OST; Flaming red hair from the TFOTR OST._

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**1\. A long-expected party**

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_**3001 T.A.**_

* * *

It was only eight in the morning on this bright day of September, and Baraz was already up and about, her flaming red hair tied in a bun on her head, her quiver wrapped around her shoulders, her oaken bow in her hand.

She had promised Mistress Ivy that she'd bring one or two wild geese for the feast, and she was up to the challenge.

Ever since her youngest years, she had been keen on using a bow, despite her father's saying that Dwarves preferred iron-made weapons: swords, axes, spears. But she always reminded him that she was not completely a Dwarf, and dismissed him with a kiss on his bearded cheek before she departed for a hunt.

It was the day they had all been waiting for that year. Bilbo Baggins' one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday, and his nephew and heir Frodo Baggins' coming of age at 33.

She herself, at 56, still looked younger than 30 for a normal human, and she had seen many of these fine Hobbits grow into adults, take a wife, and father children. Like Hamfast Gamgee, who was carrying a huge pumpkin to the faire as she passed him on the road. She had known him when he was only an infant, they had almost grown up together, and now, his son Samwise was a fine teenager already keen on gardening.

"Hullo there Miss Baraz!" Hamfast waved at her and she answered with a big smile and a wave of her own.

Before she went into the woods in the West Farthing, she wanted to pay a visit to her Uncle Bilbo. She had a good reason for it. The best of all.

* * *

As she peacefully walked through grass-covered fields and on dirty paths, her fingers went to toy with her pendant: her mother's old necklace, a copy of Nenya, a Ring of power. It was dull and mated now, but it was a token the late Ariana had given her on her death-bed, and it meant something to her only daughter.

Ariana had passed away seven years prior, aged 78. Baraz' father, Bofur, had been inconsolable for years before he accepted to go out of their house again. But even then, the appeals of the Shire didn't seem to reach him anymore, and she knew the time would soon be upon them to leave.

She remembered the promise she made her mother a long time ago. And she would honour that promise she made.

* * *

As she was passing in the middle of the morning market, a small bundle of red-hair flung from behind a bush and assaulted her legs. Baraz laughed openly and wrapped her bowstring around her shoulder to steep and take the little boy in her arms.

"Good morrow, there, Pippin!"

He grinned widely, his little fist opening to reveal a smooth golden rock. He put a finger to his lips and made a shushing noise, and Baraz understood the little trickster had once again been stealing some of Elanor Woodling's collectible rocks.

"Good morning, Miss Baraz! I see Peregrïn is once again bothering you!"

Eglantine, Pippin's mother, was hurrying from the baker's stall, her younger daughter Pervinca following suite.

Baraz chuckled and shook her head, placing a loud kiss on Pippin's chubby cheek. "He could never bother me, don't worry." She set the little one down and pointed at Eglantine's baskets. "Is this for Uncle Bilbo's party?"

The Hobbit nodded cheerfully. "I'm in charge of the baking. And I'm late. Paladin is never there when I need him..." she sighed then shooed her two youngest forward as she greeted Baraz and went her merry way.

Pippin was one of the many children who liked Baraz' company. She was different from the other young women in Hobbiton, and even in Bywater. In fact, most of their fathers told them, in hushed tones, that they had never met someone who resembled her west of Bree. And Bree, as every Hobbit or anyone acquainted with Hobbits knew, was as wild as could be.

But there was one Hobbit in Hobbiton who did not think Bree to be far enough. And it was that Hobbit that Baraz was going to on this sunny and warm morning.

* * *

Bag End was on the opposite hill from Baraz' house, but she always enjoyed walking through the village when she went to Bilbo's home for tea or, as she had done more and more these last summers, to go visit young Frodo.

It was Frodo that she first saw as she climbed the soft slope leading to Bag End. A book under his arm, he had sauntered out of the house, a grin on his lips, and the grin didn't falter when he saw Baraz going his way.

"Miss Baraz! Good morning to you!"

She bowed the head and smiled back. "Good morning Master Frodo, and a merry happy birthday to you! How are you and where are you going this early?"

"Thank you ever so much. I am very well. I am going to the East Farthings...to try and catch Gandalf when he arrives."

Baraz chuckled and nodded. "A very good idea indeed. I will see you tonight, and be sure to save me a dance this time!"

He nodded and sauntered away, his brown locks bouncing on his young head.

Frodo was coming of age that day, and yet Baraz remembered the day he was born quite well. She was 23, and she had gone to visit Bilbo when he jumped out of his door, a letter in hand, and shouted to whomever was listening that his cousin Drogo had fathered a son. On his own birthday! If it wasn't a sign!

And now, he was an adult, and yet, as every other Hobbit, he was shorter than her by a head or so. If she was taller than a Dwarf, she was also shorter than a Man, and it was better not to talk about Elves...

* * *

Bilbo Baggins was standing on his porch as she reached the garden's gate, on which, she noticed as she opened it, had been hung a sign '_No acceptance, except on party business_'. She chuckled and shook her head. Bilbo was smoking his pipe, forming perfectly round smoke-rings into the air, humming a soft tune she had not heard yet, although he knew many and had invented even more.

"Good morning, Uncle! And happy birthday!"

Bilbo shook off his reverie, and a wide smile appeared on his lips as he saw her climbing the four steps to where he stood. "Poppy! What are you doing here this early, girl?"

He had always called her Poppy as long as she could remember. He hated her given name and thought that, as every other Hobbit child, she ought to have a proper flowery name. And her hair had helped.

Baraz smiled and sat on the small wooden bench next to his standing form. "I am on my way to go hunting, if you want to know. But I thought I'd call on you. See if you were alright... And..." she paused, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was nearby listening, "...and to make sure you still wanted to leave."

It had been decided that, after the party that night, Bilbo, Baraz and Bofur would leave for Erebor. Her and her father's packs were all ready in the hallway, and Bofur had left the house in the break of dawn to go fill their water pouches and to purchase ponies for the journey.

Bilbo sighed, a big puff of smoke erupting from his lips as he did so, and he gestured her to enter the house. As she did, he closed the door behind her and locked it. Bilbo hated unwanted visitors. Ariana had once told her daughter she was certain it was because of a certain night, sixty years prior, when a tall Dwarf named Dwalin almost pillaged his pantry.

"Of course I am still planning to leave!" He walked to his study, Baraz on his heels, and stopped in front of a map he had made out of Ariana's tales and adventures. You could see the Trolls; Rivendell; Goblin-town; Beorn's shack; the Elvenhalls; the ruins of Laketown; New-Dale and the Lonely Mountain. "Ever since your mother told me of those wonderful things she saw...I only wished to see them for myself."

He grabbed a sheath in his old chest, the elven blade showing a little under the leather, and Baraz, who knew Sting by heart, smiled softly at the look of profound nostalgia on her uncle's face.

"If I had gone that day instead of wishing everything to stay the same... If I had gone...I'd have lived a wonderful adventure! But I did not go, and now...now I am old, and stupid." He met her eyes, a mischievous glint in his grey orbs. "But I can assure you that I will be leaving with style!"

Baraz chuckled. "I am certain you will, Uncle..."

He chuckled back then exited the study towards his kitchen. "Come now, Poppy. Let's have a cup of tea before you go killing some poor beast and I am disturbed by unwanted guests..."

* * *

When Baraz went home much later that day, after delivering four wild geese to Mistress Ivy for the feast, her father had come home too and was placing a bowl of water in front of the two ponies haltered in front of their little garden.

Upon seeing his daughter, the Dwarf raised his greying head and shook his everlasting plaits, to which she merely answered with a wicked grin, her tongue in-between her teeth. "You've received a letter. I put it on the kitchen's table."

"Thanks Da." She kissed his cheek as she passed him and entered their little house, hanging her bow and quiver on the rack on her way to the kitchen.

The letter bore the elegant writing of her friend Fíli, son of Kíli, and the royal seal of Erebor. She opened it greedily, for she hadn't heard from Fíli in almost six months.

* * *

'_Dearest Baraz,_

_I hope you are truthful when you say that you intend to come and live in Erebor later this year. Father and I have not told anyone for the time being in case you change your mind._

_We would like to say however that we would be very happy if you came to live with us indefinitely now that your mother has passed – Mahal praise her soul. We've missed you and your father for too long._

_Kind Daïn and his son Thorin are being ever so boring and commanding with us now that we have settled from the Blue Mountains with Mother. Father thinks he is afraid that he'd take Erebor's throne now that he is older, and that many would follow him. It is true that Daïn is not much liked here. Many a Dwarf and a Man of Dale wished Father had taken the throne when offered, but we are content not to trifle in politics anymore._

_I have met Prince Brand of Dale earlier this week. He is like his father Baïn: tall, broody-looking, but a good Man, and I am sure you will like him. You like everyone anyway. It is most probably your Hobbit side, for I cannot see how anyone with a brain could like to spend time with Gimli._

_He has grown insufferable as of late. His father says that it is because he has not found a bride yet, and when I joked that it was because his beard was not long enough, he threatened me with his axe. Uncle Gloïn didn't say a thing. He is less merry and more grim since we lost contact with Balin and his company._

_I wished you'd send a letter to confirm that you are coming. There are too many things that I have to tell you, and not enough paper to tell it._

_We bid you and your father good health._

_May your beard ever grow longer._

_Fíli, son of Kíli, son of Fenrir._'

* * *

Baraz folded the paper again, a smile grazing her lips.

Fíli had been her confidant ever since they were dwarflings. He was the closest thing she had to a brother, even if his father Kíli seemed keen to see them wed one day.

"What was he writing about?"

Bofur entered the room, wiping his hands clean of the dirt from the outside. He went to put the kettle on the oven, and his questioning eyes went to his daughter again, who shrugged.

"He and Uncle Kíli did not quite believe me when I said we were going."

"Ah..." he chuckled. "It's too good to be true..." another chuckle. "My brother Bombur too could not believe it until I confirmed it a week ago. If they truly don't, it will be a nice surprise when we pass the threshold."

"There is something else." Baraz' brow was furrowed as she recalled Fíli's words. "Apparently, Daïn thinks that Kíli would take the throne now that he is older and has an heir..."

Bofur sighed as he poured two cups of tea. "King Daïn has always been a little paranoid. Some in our company even thought that he only came to Thorin's aid back in the day because he thought he could bring some riches back to the Iron Hills..." He paused. "We will have to be careful if he thinks that. He was never fond of your mother, and I doubt he would be fond of you...especially since you are so close to young Fíli."

Baraz nodded gravely. "Yes, I know..." she sighed into her cup. "I wish we knew what happened to Uncle Balin and Oin and Ori in Moria..."

Bofur nodded gravely, his grey eyes darkening with sadness. "I fear we all know what happened... It's been seven years now without a word..."

"Dear Ori..."

Bofur nodded again, and they quietly sipped their tea, thoughts going to friends that had passed and friends that surely had passed...

* * *

Finally, the sun began to set, and Baraz and her father got out into the evening to go to Bilbo's party, which was held in Hobbiton's biggest field, which held most parties anyway.

Bofur had for the occasion re-plaited his hair properly, and had left his hideous inuit-like hat at home, to his daughter's amusement – her father never got out without that hat, he was almost glued to it. Baraz had plaited her own red hair and had plucked little flowers into it so she looked more Hobbit-like despite her height.

Bilbo was greeting his guests at the white gate raised at the entrance of the field. As was customary in the Shire, the one holding the birthday-party was giving those who turned up little presents – not expensive ones, mind you, poor Bilbo would have been robbed of all his money with the numbers of guests he had invited. So when they reached him, with a wide grin, he reached into a pile of little tokens and handed two to his long-time friends.

Baraz noticed their presents looked better and more expensive than those Bilbo had given the Hobbits before them, but she said nothing as she kissed both his cheeks and pinned the brooch to her white tunic. It was a bird-shaped brooch, and after studying it, Bofur told his daughter it was a thrush, and a reminder of Ariana's adventures. It moved Baraz even more.

Strangely enough, Frodo was nowhere to be seen as they moved through the crowd of Hobbits, almost all of whom were talking about the marvels of the buffet or the wonderful decorations held in the trees or on light-posts.

As they finally reached the buffet for their own, Baraz was accosted by young Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast, who asked her with a blush to his pointy ears, if she agreed to a dance later. She did, for she loved to dance.

Bofur smirked at his daughter as he served himself a good part of pork. "If this goes on, you'll soon have all of Hobbiton's younger lads asking for your hand in marriage!"

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Come now, Da. We both know I'll only accept one hand in marriage..." she leaned into him as him telling him a secret. "Pippin's."

He rolled his eyes as well. "Your affection for this little monster is beyond me."

She chuckled and then they moved to a table where they sat with Rosie Ale and her fiancé Solam Oak. Both were very keen in asking Baraz how she could be so tall and if the ceilings in her hobbit-hole were not too low for her head not to bump into. All in all, they had fun.

* * *

Night fell, and the dancing began. Hobbits were well-known for their music and dances, and Baraz, having been raised in this environment, had always loved it. Her father, on the other hand, was not one for this kind of amusement, and decided to retire from the party, officially because he was tired, but really because he had to go fetch the third pony for their trek in the Wild later on. He kissed the top of his daughter's head and made her promise not to accept any marriage proposal in his absence, and he left as swiftly as a thief.

Baraz was soon hoisted up by a couple of the youngest Hobbit girls in the village, and she followed them to the dancefloor where they started a very popular gig Baraz knew by heart. She clapped in her hands, steeped low on her two feet then jumped back into the air, whirling around, looking like what her mother used to call Irish dancers. She had a good laugh, and soon, Frodo joined her wild dancing, wide grins on their faces.

They danced and danced and danced until their feet ached. Samwise claimed his dance, then Baraz claimed one with young Pippin, then one more with Bilbo who, despite his age, was still agile on his two feet.

Then the music stopped, and the air cracked with what everyone had been looking forward to – Gandalf's fireworks.

Baraz had not seen the wizard among the guests yet, although his pointy hat could be seen miles around, but now, she could see his tall and thin figure against the dark sky, his magic staff lighting with sparks as he lit the first firework. And like any other that night, she started cheering in excitement.

Gandalf's fireworks were renown in all of the Shire, and most people didn't know he was also an Istar, one of the greatest magical creatures in Middle-Earth. Of course, Baraz knew that. She had known the wizard for years, and his kindness and devastating humour was nothing compared to the power he held. Gandalf the Grey, he was called, and Baraz knew his cousin, Radagast the Brown, if only by name because her mother had met him on the eve of the Battle of Five Armies.

Tonight was one of the nights where the fireworks were magnificent. Butterflies and flowers and whistling birds took shape before exploding in a thousand of lights up up in the sky, and finally, for the finale, a blazing dragon came down from the sky, and before it could strike the ground where all of Hobbiton stood, it flew away and formed the most beautiful of all the fireworks.

* * *

Baraz walked to the wizard after the show, her smile visible in the light of night for it was wide.

Gandalf, upon seeing her, mirrored her smile. "Baraz, my dear girl! I didn't see you here!" He walked to her and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, before his grey eyes darted on the crowd before him. "Where's Bofur?"

"Oh, Da left a little while ago. He was tired..." she lowered her voice, "and wanted to make sure everything was ready for our departure tonight."

Gandalf nodded, his smile fading a bit. "Yes yes... I dare say I was relieved when Bilbo told me you'd go with him. But you don't have to if you don't want to... I know how fond of the Shire you are..."

Baraz nodded, her eyes going to the surrounding hills, her heart panging in her chest as she realised she was perhaps gazing upon them for the last time. "Yes, I am very fond of the Shire... But my place is not here. Neither is my father's. We are going back to Erebor and to our family." She tried a smile that felt false. "That was Mother's wish."

"Ah, Ariana..." Gandalf's eyes lost their focus as if he was picturing his late friend, "she knew a great deal more than any of us about everything...and I never knew why..."

"Neither did I. But I trust she knew what she was doing when she asked us to accompany Uncle Bilbo on his quest."

"Yes, I trust she did." He paused and smiled down at her, this time more merrily. "Come now, Baraz, let's go and listen to good old Bilbo's speech!"

She smiled back and walked beside the tall wizard as they went back to the feast.

* * *

Bilbo had already climbed onto a barrel of ale, and upon seeing that Gandalf and Baraz had finally joined the party, he raised his hand, and the crowd grew silent in expectation. Bilbo's speeches were always the talk of Hobbiton, for he could easily play with words and make everyone laugh.

"My dear People..." some shouted 'Hear! Hear!' at that. "My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots." 'Proudfeet' shouted the elderly of said family, and everyone laughed. "Proudfoots" Bilbo said again. "Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday! Am eleventy-one today!" Everyone cheered at that, and Baraz laughed as she saw Lobelia Sackville-Baggins glare openly at her cousin, in ever hope that he'd die and leave her all his wealth in inheritance – that would never happen anyway. "I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am. I shall not keep you long. I have called you all together for a Purpose. Indeed, for Three Purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of all of you, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Baraz chuckled at the confused faces among the crowd, and she exchanged an amused glance with Gandalf who was chuckling too.

"Secondly, to celebrate my birthday. I should say: OUR birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today." There was general shout of 'Frodo!' in the assistance and, once again, Baraz noticed Lobelia's glare, this time directed at everyone who was cheering her loss of money for her old days. "Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression. Thirdly and finally, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. I regret to announce that – though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you – this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOODBYE!"

There was a huge and common gasp among the assistance when Bilbo rightly vanished after that, and many a Hobbit shouted in fear and started fussing about, talking about 'sorcery' and 'things unnatural that should not be'.

Baraz and Gandalf exchanged a meaningful glance again, and the wizard sighed. "Go and fetch your father, Baraz dear. I will go talk to this idiot of a Hobbit."

She nodded and hurried away and towards her soon-to-be former house, thinking that, as he had told her that morning, Bilbo surely went out with style...

* * *

Bofur and his daughter left their hobbit-hole as swiftly as dwarves can do these things, and drove the ponies away into the dead of night and to where they had agreed to meet Bilbo – further up the road and into the farming-fields, where the ponies' forms would be hidden by the size of the crops.

Baraz had felt extremely sad as she closed their house's door for the last time it seemed. Her father hugged her briefly, but she knew he didn't feel as nostalgic as her. He belonged in the halls and mines of Erebor, not in a hobbit-hole.

For all her sadness, Baraz felt extremely content to leave on another adventure. It had been years since she had last visited Erebor, and even then, she had not gone for an indefinite stay. And they had surely not stayed in Rivendell either, while Bilbo wanted adamantly to meet the Elves Ariana had been so fond of.

So Baraz would meet the Master Elrond for the first time. She was as excited as could be.

* * *

It was very late and very close to three in the morning when they finally heard the distinct clap of a walking-stick on the rocks of the path and the humming of a song Baraz knew had been invented by her uncle. And so he stepped out into their sight, and stopped humming his song as he smiled.

It struck Baraz that he looked very much younger, as if leaving Hobbiton had lifted a weight off his shoulders.

"Ah, my dear friends! Now we are off on our little adventure!"

Bofur helped him up his pony and explained the basics of riding, then he took the lead and all three rode off into the night and towards Bree, their first stop.

As they hurried away from Hobbiton, Baraz glanced over her shoulder one last time, and then she joined in Bilbo's song. One that spoke of adventures and paths ahead.

_The road goes ever on and on_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_And I must follow if I can,_

_Pursuing it with eager feet,_

_Until it joins some larger way_

_Where many paths and errands meet._

_And whither then? I cannot say._


	3. 2, The road to Rivendell

_A/N: Aaaaaand we're back! I would like to thank those who have already put this on alert and favourites. Enjoy this new chapter, it features one of my favourite characters EVER! :)_

* * *

_**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**_

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_**Playlist for this chapter:** The adventure begins; The world is ahead; Roast mutton; The hidden valley from the An unexpected journey OST._

* * *

**2\. The road to Rivendell**

* * *

_**3001 T.A.**_

* * *

The journey proved to take far longer than what would have been expected.

After their stay in the _Prancing Pony_ in Bree, Bilbo began to feel more tired, more restless, and with the deterioration of his health came the slowing down of their advance.

Baraz and Bofur immediately realised after that first night that Bilbo had seemingly aged a great deal. His hair was beginning to turn white, wrinkles were engraving themselves on his face, his breathing became uneven, and his sight was getting poorer.

All of this worried Baraz a great deal, for she had no idea what had provoked these symptoms or this sudden old age when, a day prior, Bilbo had been as young as a seventy-years-old hobbit.

It was decided after four days of travels and when it began certain that they would not reach Rivendell at that speed without meeting the many creatures and thieves of the East-Road, that Bofur would ride ahead, since he knew the way – he had been there twice after all – and that he'd ask Master Elrond for help.

So he left his daughter and friend alone on the road and rode ahead as fast as his pony could manage. But even then, he'd take him days, perhaps a whole week, to reach Rivendell.

* * *

Baraz's eyes were darting to her uncle every pace or so. Some time soon, he would not be able to sit on his saddle without help, and she felt ever so worried by that fact.

When she asked him if it would not be wiser to go back or to alter their course to go on a straighter path to the Elves, though, Bilbo proved to be himself enough to refuse vehemently.

"No", he said, "I want to see the Trolls before we reach Rivendell!"

And Baraz knew nothing could change his mind...

* * *

That evening, while Baraz was boiling some water to make a stew, Bilbo sat on a fallen log, his eyes to the skies. She studied him for a moment, the way he observed the stars above his head; stars that he had placed countless times on his star-maps. The look of nostalgia on his face, of almost sadness, sent a pang of hurt to her heart.

She was in the middle of her preparation when he spoke up. "Poppy, can I ask you something?"

She nodded, her eyes not leaving the pot where she plunged some carrots. "Of course you can, Uncle."

She met his eyes that were suddenly twinkling with excitement. "How is Rivendell? What does it look like? Is there a river, or a lake? Perhaps a waterfall? And how are the Elves?"

Baraz chuckled at his incessant questions. All Hobbits loved the Elves, it was a constant, but no one loved them more than Bilbo Baggins. He had never seen one in his life, but to him as to everyone else, they were like angels. But she could not help much regarding this. "I'm afraid I don't know, Uncle. I've never been to Rivendell..."

Bilbo huffed. "Poppy! You have gone to Erebor every five years or so with your father every since you were a little dwarfling! You cannot possibly tell me you have never stopped by Rivendell!"

She sighed, plunging her spoon in the stew to taste it. It needed a little more salt. "I am sorry to say that I can... Da never really liked the Elves. He didn't want to owe them anything. So we passed close to the Hidden Valley, but never entered it. Although Ma told me some things..."

Bilbo didn't say a word, but his eyes and the way he had suddenly crossed his hands in his lap urged her forward.

She smiled to herself. "She said that Rivendell is more beautiful than any other place in Middle-Earth. That the pillars are covered in ivy, that the water runs under and over paths, that there are flowers everywhere and that it scarcely rains at all... She also said that the Lord Elrond and his daughter Arwen Ûndomiel are two of the kindest people she ever met."

Bilbo smiled widely. "I long to meet them. Do you think they are fond of songs?" Baraz shrugged. "I am composing one for them as we speak. I hope they like it..."

She chuckled. "I am sure they will, Uncle, but for now, let's eat and sleep..."

Although she knew that while _he_ slept, she'd keep her two eyes open...

* * *

The following days grew to be much the same, with the exception of Bilbo being even more tired. He needed break from the saddle every two hours or so, and Baraz, despite her legendary patience, had started to feel like she'd ride ahead and wait for him to catch up eventually. But she would not do that. Because they were slowly entering the Wild, and she knew all-too-well the dangers that lied ahead...

Five days after Bofur had left them alone, they reached the troll hoard and the three statues now standing guard a few yards in front of it.

The trolls had long since been covered in moss and ivy for time was not kind to all things that didn't move, but you could still see the way they were stooping as if reaching for something – or someone – within their sight.

Baraz hadn't visited this place in more than a decade, and as she put her hand to the stone, Bilbo came to stand by her, his hair even whiter, more and more wrinkles on his face.

"Your mother told me how she was lucky the sun rose before they caught her..."

Baraz nodded. "Yes... And Da also told me no one within their group ever understood how she had known there was a troll hoard nearby, for their camp was at least an hour away..."

"Miss Ari was always a mystery..." Bilbo smiled kindly and circled the trolls, as if committing them to memory, before his eyes turned to the cave ahead. "Would you agree to a little exploring?"

She shrugged, made sure the ponies were altered, and followed him towards the hoard.

* * *

The smell was still awful even so long after the trolls' death, and many flies buzzed around in a stomach-turning trance around the entrance.

Bilbo didn't seem at all disturbed by all this and strolled inside humming to himself while Baraz' nose turned up in disgust and she followed, her bow in hand just in case.

Strangely enough, the cave was lit by some kind of magical torches with what seemed like never-ending fire lighting it. In other circumstances, Baraz would have thought the place to be occupied, but there were no signs of life either inside or outside of the hoard. It had been deserted a long time prior, and she was not at all against that fact.

Bilbo stopped in front of a small crate near the entrance and she stood next to him as he opened it with a look of greed on his face that she had never seen before. "You never know what kind of riches you can find in a small crate like this one..." He opened the lid, revealing thousands of golden coins, ancient coins with some elvish or dwarvish runes engraved on it. There were also rubies and sapphires, gems and thin bracelets of gold.

The hobbit flew from crate to crate, from corner to corner, as if he was looking for something in particular. Under his breath, he was muttering non-sense like 'I'm sure there is one here... It can't have been the only ring about...' but Baraz was too taken by the sounds around to pay real attention.

* * *

There was a sudden commotion outside, a rushing of leaves, a cracking of twigs and some yells as if there was hunt nearby.

Baraz drew her bow and looked at Bilbo who was still searching for something in the trolls' treasure. "Stay here, Uncle. Do not move." He hummed a vague answer, and she moved towards the entrance of the cave, an arrow notched.

There was definitely a hunt going on. She could hear the hooves of at least a dozen horses nearby and the yells of several species, both hunters and hunted, as they grew nearer. She raised her bow and waited, her figure hidden in the shadows of the steeping stone.

Several figures erupted from the woods to her left. She gasped at what she saw, for if she had never seen these creatures for real and in the break of day, she surely knew what they were. "Goblins! So far from the Mountains?" In her astonishment, she did not shoot her arrow, and instead started to think. Why would these creatures, that hated the light of day, travel so far from their caves?

She received her answer not a second later. Her bow lifted again, she watched as the dozen horses she had heard before erupted into the clearing as well, and on them, Elves.

They were drawing their own bows, except perhaps three who had long curved swords in their hands. They all mounted without a saddle, which struck Baraz as perilous.

One raised his hand as he spotted the two altered ponies, and two stopped by his side while the others continued their hunt.

She heard a vague order from the male who seemed to be the leader, then all three dismounted and went to the ponies to examine them and the bags they carried. She pondered. She had always been told by her mother that the Elves were her friends, and so far she had always believed her words, but now...with those studying her bags and all the things she and Bilbo carried with them...she wanted to shoo them away. Her dwarf blood was making itself known in the least opportune moment...

* * *

"_Ya naa tanya?_" _**Who is that?**_

Baraz lowered her bow as the three figures moved her way, the leader stopping for a second when he saw her standing there. He nodded to his companions and all lowered their weapons as well – bows for the two brown-haired warriors, and a sword for the golden-haired leader.

She bowed her head in greeting. "Good morrow to you, Elves."

The leader stopped in front of her and it struck her how small she was next to the Tall Kin. He studied her and her attire for a moment, then bowed his head back. "_Pernogoth._"

Baraz tilted her head to the side for she did not understand what his word meant, but now was not the time for questions. "I am Baraz of the Shire. Nice meeting you."

"Baraz of the Shire?" the leader's grey eyes widened. "Peculiar. _Mae govannen_ Baraz. My name is Glorfindel. I come from Imladris."

Her mouth opened a little in surprise. "We are heading to Imladris!"

"We?" his eyes darted behind her and his ears surely caught on the sound of Bilbo's padding feet as he came back towards the entrance. "Who is your companion?"

"Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton, my...uncle."

The three Elves shared a glance, but were they pondering about their said relation or about Bilbo's name, she did not know.

Glorfindel then smiled kindly. "It would be our pleasure to escort you to the valley, Baraz of the Shire. My companions and I have been hunting down some goblins who attacked some of our people near the Bruinen, but I grow tired of it. Some light company would be welcome."

Baraz smiled back and bowed her head in thanks. "It would be most welcome on our side too, Glorfindel of Imladris." Bilbo then appeared behind her and gasped, but remained silent as he surely studied the three first Elves he saw in his life. "My father Bofur rode ahead of us a little less than a week ago. Perhaps you have seen him?"

"Yes, we have, although he did not stop to ask for assistance. A dwarf is very scarcely seen near the valley... Very scarcely indeed..." His brow furrowed as if he was trying to understand Bofur's presence in the Hidden Valley, but then he smiled again. "Shall we ride, then?"

Baraz nodded, then her eyes went to Bilbo. She looked at him in worry. "Uncle Bilbo?" his eyes went to her, and she saw he was still stunned at the Elves' appearance. "Are you strong enough to ride on your own or do you want to ride with someone else?"

Glorfindel whirled around from where he had been caressing his horse's mane, and he cleared his throat. "Is your friend ill?"

"Not ill, old... An illness that takes us all mortals." She chuckled darkly. "His health has been deteriorating since we left the Shire, and I will be happy to see Lord Elrond to enquire on the reason for this sudden weakness." She paused. "Would you mind riding with him?"

The Elf smiled and chuckled, the sound clear like chiming bells. "I will with great pleasure!" He gestured Bilbo forward until the Hobbit stood beside his horse, looking not much taller than a child, and he hoisted him onto the horse's back before climbing swiftly behind him. "This is Asfaloth, my most faithful companion. He will not let you fall."

* * *

The journey was easier with the Elves as companions. Although it was not quicker, for Baraz and her two ponies walked slower than Asfaloth and the other two horses the Elves rode. But none of their companions seemed to mind.

Bilbo had found his tongue a little while after they left the trolls' cave, and Glorfindel answered his incessant questions with many smiles and a patience Baraz would not have had in the same circumstances. The Elf was truly a great companion for the road, for he knew short-cuts and safe passages through the Wild, and was also fond of stories and of the other kins of Middle-Earth. He didn't say if he had met Hobbits before, but Baraz guessed he had not seen many, for he too questioned Bilbo on many occurrences and seemed particularly curious to learn about the _peredhili_'s customs.

That evening, they ate a piece of elven bread. Baraz knew the Elves didn't eat the meat they hunted. When they chose to kill an animal, it was for another reason than sustenance. They killed the ill, the weak, or when a species was too numerous for a given area. They acted as animal-lovers, not as animal-eaters.

It was a first for her – and for Bilbo of course – to try elvish food. Glorfindel was quick in explaining that the bread – _lambas_ bread he called it – had been made for long journeys or times of low food-supplies, for it could properly feed an adult Elf for an entire day. Although apparently, it did not have the same effect on Hobbits, for Bilbo asked for a second piece. But then again, Hobbits ate almost every hour or so, so it was understandable.

Baraz, on the other side, was quite full after her piece, and thought the bread practical for long periods of riding indeed. But she swore not to tell anyone in Erebor, for Dwarves there hated Elves with a passion. A passion she had never shared, but that should have been her human half.

* * *

When the sun set and the Elves lit a proper fire for the night, one of the two brown-haired males took a thin and elegant flute from one of his pockets and started to play a tune.

Baraz, whose father was also playing the flute, could not help but noticing how the sound was purer, more musical than that of Bofur's old polished flute. The music the Elf played was so pure than it seemed as if the nature itself accommodated it. Grasshoppers stopped their own music to listen, and the wind blew more softly. The stars even seemed to shine stronger.

Bilbo's eyes were as wide as tea-cups as he stared at the Elf, and he was shifting his weight to the tune, his lips moving in silence as if he was trying to put words to the song.

Glorfindel was lying on his back and was gazing at the sky, his eyes far off. The third Elf was sitting on a rock nearby, surely to take the first watch, and was humming the song to himself.

And very slowly, Baraz felt her eyes close and fatigue take over her. She had not slept in several days, and the Elf's tune seemed to lull her to sleep. So she lied down in her bedroll and closed her eyes onto dreams of streams and deers and falling leaves...

* * *

It took the little group a little more than three days to rally the Bruinen, the river that flowed at the entrance of the Hidden Valley. When they reached the bridge over the gentle water, several Elves got out of bushes and barred their way.

They all stopped in front of Glorfindel's horse. Baraz noticed their brown hair and fair eyes, and when she glanced at their guide again, she wondered what kind of Elf he was, for his features were completely different.

"_Glorfindel. Cormamin lindua ele lle._" said one of the guards. _**My heart sings to see you. **_"_Manke nae lle?_" _**Where were you?**_

"_Lye carfarad Glamhoth mì Numen Imladrisin._" _**We were hunting Goblins West of here.**_

The Elf nodded then he glanced at Bilbo, sitting in front of Glorfindel on his horse, and at Baraz who kept her gaze low just in case. Her father had told her that sometimes even the most innocent of stares could be misinterpreted. "_Ya naa ron?_" _**Who are they?**_

"_Baraz i Drannin. Ar Bilbo, i Drannin._" _**Baraz of the Shire. And Bilbo of the Shire.**_

The Elf looked at Baraz more closely. "_Peredhili?_" _**Halflings?**_

Glorfindel shook his head and looked at Baraz who met his amused glance. "_Pernogoth._"

Her brow furrowed for she still did not understand that word. But the Elves around gasped and their eyes widened as they looked at her, and then, they let them pass, muttering some questions under their breath, so low she could not make their words...

They dismounted as they got closer to the city, and Baraz could hear Elves singing in the trees and on the river banks, and those songs filled her with joy and happiness.

She walked faster to catch up with their guide, and cleared her throat. "Glorfindel, may I ask you something?"

The Elf glanced down at her and nodded. "Of course you can, Baraz of the Shire."

She paused to try and find her words, but she thought it best to just ask without rounding the subject. "What does '_pernogoth'_ mean?"

Glorfindel's grey eyes lit and he smiled widely. "I knew you understood us. Although how you came to understand Sindarin is still a mystery that I hope to resolve one day." he shared a smile with her. "_Pernogoth_ is what you are."

"And what am I?"

"A Half-Dwarf. Which, if I may say so, if very rare. Almost never spoken of."

Baraz sighed and nodded. "Yes, some of my oldest friends told me how rare these half-breeds are. So I am a _pernogoth_." Glorfindel nodded. "That's a new word to add to my list."

He opened his mouth as if to ask her how she came by such a list, but decided otherwise, and the rest of the journey was spent in silence, if you counted out the songs that could still be heard on both sides of the path.

* * *

At last they arrived in sight of Rivendell, and Baraz' eyes widened as she took the city in. What her mother had told her was far from the truth. The beauty of the columns and of the sculptures, and of the overall feeling once you'd set eyes on it – everything was an understatement. She felt content and utterly peaceful as she gazed at the pure lines of the soft wood they had used to build it – if it had been built at all, for it seemed as if it was part of the nature in itself.

They were walking towards a bridge, and on the other side stood a tall brown-haired Elf with a thin mithril crown on his head – Baraz knew it was mithril for everyone in her father's kin knew what it looked like at first sight. He opened his arms and a soft smile appeared on his lips as they stopped in front of him.

"Welcome to Imladris! I am Lord Elrond, your host."

Behind the Elf, Baraz noticed a female with jet-black hair standing on top of a staircase, beside whom stood her father. She smiled at her host.

"_Diola lle_, Master Elrond." _**Thank you.**_

And no one even took time to ask how she knew the words...


	4. 3, An unexpected long stay

_A/N: Hello back everyone and thanks to those who have put alerts on this since the last time I posted. :) As I said before, it really is hard to update more than once or twice a month, but I'll do my best, I promise. For now, Baraz, Bilbo and Bofur have reached Rivendell, and are going to stay a bit. Enjoy!_

* * *

_**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**_

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**_Playlist for the chapter:_**_ The hidden valley; Moon runes; Misty mountains cold (Neil Finn) from the An unexpected journey OST._

* * *

**3\. An unexpected long stay**

* * *

_**3001 T.A.**_

* * *

Master Elrond walked to his new guests and placed a hand on each' shoulder with a wide smile that highlighted his grey eyes. "Baraz, daughter of Ariana, and Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. You are most welcome."

It struck Baraz in that moment that the Elf had indeed known her mother, for he acted very familiar with both her daughter and her long-time friend. Had Ariana sent letters to Elrond during her years in Hobbiton, or was his power of foresight so strong that he had seen some things, she'd never know.

"Come now, you must be famished." He placed himself behind the two smaller people and gently pushed them towards the staircase. They climbed the stony stairs in silence, and Baraz watched as the woman's smile widened as her fair eyes settled on her.

When they reached her, she bowed her head. "I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond. It is very nice to meet you."

Baraz's eyes widened a notch. So this was the Evenstar. The Elf that had helped her mother dress and pass through Rivendell's halls on her first stay. She liked her already.

Bilbo grinned widely and bowed his head while taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. He was so small beside her that he didn't even have to arch his back to reach her white fingers. "You are a vision, Madam."

Arwen chuckled, the sound again similar to the chiming of bells. "I am not certain you have seen many Elf maidens in your life, Master Hobbit, but I accept the compliment with gratitude. Will you accompany me to the dining hall?" She offered him her hand, and he dazingly accepted it. They strode away, Arwen's paces slow and graceful, her dress flowing behind her as if it was made of wind.

Elrond bowed the head as he passed Baraz and Bofur, who had remained there, and he and Glorfindel guided them throughout the maze of Rivendell's halls.

* * *

Bofur tugged on his daughter's arm so she leaned down to listen to what he had to tell her.

"Has anything of importance happened?"

She nodded. "The Elves were hunting down goblins. According to Glorfindel, they had attacked some of their kin." Her brow furrowed. "Since when do goblins come down so far from their mountain?"

Bofur gritted his teeth. "I do not know, but that worries me."

"What about you, Da? Has anything happened to you on your journey?"

"No. But the sooner we leave here, the better."

Baraz smiled knowingly. "You have stayed here twice already. Why don't you appreciate Lord Elrond's hospitality?"

Bofur's eyes met hers gravely. "It is not in my nature to appreciate the Elves' company. Last time, I was with your mother; and the time before that, with my companions." He paused, then sighed. "There are people here that can see in your head. I do not like them."

Baraz knew he was talking about Lord Elrond and his mother-in-law, the Lady Galadriel, whom she had heard about many times from her mother Ariana. She was so powerful she could talk in your mind and see your thoughts. But as far as she knew, the Lady Galadriel resided in Loríen.

* * *

Baraz' and Bilbo's journey had taken some time, and when they reached Rivendell, it was already the middle of October. The leaves on the trees were becoming yellow or brown, but even then, it seemed that they would not fall until much later. The Elves' magic seemed to even slow down time.

The air itself didn't feel cold or windy as it should have been and as it had been on the East Road. Instead, it was warm, almost as warm as in summer, and Baraz doubted it ever rained in Rivendell, for the city's halls lacked roofs. And such art as their benches or feathery cushions would not survive a heavy rain, she was certain of it.

While they crossed a good part of the city, they met with other Elves, of both sexes, but not many Elf children. Baraz knew, of course, that the Tall Kin had some trouble fathering, but she still had hoped to meet some younger souls. She was so used to Hobbiton's many hobbitlings...

"Your thoughts are elsewhere..."

She looked to the side at her father who looked grumpier than ever, which would have been funny if it hadn't also been a rare occurrence. She nodded. "I was wondering why there aren't many children here."

He gritted his teeth. "They don't need that. They're immortal."

She rolled her eyes, but knew better than to answer. It would not do any good.

* * *

Finally they reach a round pavilion on the centre of which stood a long wooden table.

Master Elrond placed his two new guests on his left and right, with Bofur next to his daughter and Arwen next to Bilbo. Glorfindel and two other Elves Baraz hadn't seen yet completed the table.

Elrond soon gestured to the two males. "May I present you my sons, Elrohir and Elladan." Both bowed their heads in respect and Baraz and Bilbo did the same. Now that she knew they were his sons, Baraz could see the resemblance. They were both brown-haired and held the high-cheekbones of their kin. Both had green eyes.

The diner consisted, to Baraz non-surprise, in a wide choice of salads with various vegetables. She knew, of course, after her frugal meal with Glorfindel and his companions in the Wild, that the Elves never ate meat, for meat was after all an animal and that they respected all kind of life-forms. They did, however, indulge in milk. But not in eggs.

"I do hope you will not miss your many meals now that you are here." Arwen was addressing Bilbo with a gentle smile. "I do know your kin likes their food opulent."

Bilbo smiled widely. "Oh, I do not mind at all! In fact, my nephew Frodo often tells me I must lose some weight around the middle..." he chuckled.

Baraz chuckled too. "He's not the only one to tell you so, Uncle."

Bilbo sent her a hard glance but as Arwen and Elrond both joined in the laughter, he did not say anything.

Glorfindel, on the other side, raised his fair head after her intervention. "I am sorry if I seem impertinent, but I have to ask..." he paused, waiting for Baraz to look at him. "How can it be that a Hobbit is your uncle?"

Baraz opened her mouth to answer, but Bilbo beat her to it. "Oh, she is not, so to speak, my niece, but see...her mother was a good friend of mine. A very good friend of mine, in fact. One day, she arrived with her husband-" he pointed at Bofur who had his head down in his plate, obviously uncomfortable, "-and pregnant with their child. She asked me if they could stay for a while, and then she gave birth to little Poppy here." he smiled softly at her. "I took a shine to her immediately. Then Miss Ari decided to stay indefinitely and I found them a hobbit-hole to live in." he opened his arms as if to conclude. "And so she was raised among my people. And has taken to call me 'Uncle' ever since she could speak. But truth be told, I love her as if she was of my own kin!"

Baraz smiled as him and placed a hand on her heart to signify her emotion after such a speech.

Elrond then looked at her, placing a hand on hers on the table. "So you were raised among the Halflings?"

She nodded. "I visited my father's kin from time to time, of course, but time, in fact, passes slower for a Dwarf, so it never feels too long between two visits."

Bofur then cleared his throat. "My wife was...she was...well...she preferred the Shire to Erebor. Too many bad memories."

Baraz nodded sadly, and Arwen, across the table, shared their saddened gazes. "Ariana talked to me about her fears when she came back from the Lonely Mountain." Baraz met her gaze. "She was so sad to have lost some companions..."

Elrond spoke up again. "I wonder. How fares your friend?" he was talking to Bofur this time, who seemed surprised and a little taken aback. "I believe his name was Kíli?"

Bofur cleared his throat. "Kíli is very well... He...he..uh..."

"He got married in the Blue Mountains and fathered a son, Fíli." Baraz continued for her father. "He now lives in Erebor with his uncle's family."

Elrond nodded. "I am glad, for last time we saw him, he was in a dark place."

Arwen's brow furrowed. "He had just lost his brother and his uncle, _Arda_. It is all understandable."

"Indeed it is. So let's not dwell on bad memories, as our _Hadhog_ friend said. Let's eat, and play music."

Bilbo clapped in his hands at that, and diner resumed.

* * *

When the sun began to set, all guests were guided to a beautiful room with chairs, couches and a huge fireplace that was already cracking with life.

Many an Elf had brought an instrument with him or her, and soft tunes could be heard in the quietness of the room.

Lord Elrond had sat himself next to Baraz and her father, who had taken out his flute and was too playing a soft tune, to his daughter's surprise. But then, she knew music was universal. The tall Elf had his eyes closed, as if he was revelling in the peace of the setting, and she did the same for a while. Time seemed to stand still. The only clue to its passing was the ending of tunes and the beginnings of others.

"Can I ask you something, Miss Baraz?"

She opened her eyes and met Arwen's across the room. She was tending to a embroidery, her deft fingers playing with the needle and the thread in a precise manner. She nodded her consent.

"Where do you feel more at home?"

The question took her aback, for she had never really thought about such things. For her, home was where her parents were. Sometimes Hobbiton, some other times Erebor. But _feeling at home_ was never something that had seemed important. Until now.

"I do not know how to answer."

Arwen smiled knowingly. "Such is the problem for people that do not live in the same place all the time." Under Baraz' scrutiny, she continued. "I myself live sometimes here, and sometimes with my grandmother. Yet both places seem like home."

Baraz nodded. "Yes, I do feel the same. Although..." she glanced at her father who seemed engrossed in conversation with Bilbo and did not pay attention to her, "although I do prefer Hobbiton, its gardens, its people, its joy, rather than Erebor's cold halls. And I have more friends among Hobbits than I do among Dwarves."

Arwen's brow furrowed, but she did not voice her question. Instead, she placed her work to the side, and hailed Bilbo. "Master Baggins?" The Halfling looked at her with wide eyes, surely wondering why she was talking to him all of a sudden. "I came to believe you are fond of songs?"

He smiled. "I am, my lady. I do write some too. In fact, if I may be so bold...I have written one for this occasion particularly."

Arwen smiled, and Baraz knew in that moment that she had known all along and had chosen that particular moment to ask. "Please. We do long to hear it."

Bilbo smiled wider even, and all instruments stopped playing. Although they all kept their instruments ready, Bofur included. Baraz knew that her father, and certainly the Elves too, would join in the tune once they got the hang of it. Such was the gift of musicians.

The Hobbit stood, but his little height was not much imposing, and placed himself in the middle of the room. He then cleared his throat and began his song:

_Such was the Elven kin_

_That their city was so bright_

_And so beautiful that time stood still_

_Their eyes were fair and their hair made of ore_

_And no one was wiser than their Lord_

_The Lord Elrond, the Half-Elf_

_Whose fathers were kin to Luthien the Fair._

There was many an applause, and the Elves immediately asked for another song, for Bilbo's voice was their pleasure. They asked for a song that came from the Shire, and the Hobbit asked for a moment to choose the right one.

Arwen then stood and excused herself. "I ask you to forgive me, for I feel a little tired. I am certain that Master Bilbo will do me the honour to sing me those songs tomorrow. Miss Baraz, would you accompany me?"

Baraz knew she had been waiting for that opportunity ever since their little talk, and she stood too and excused herself as well. "I will, for I too am weary, and besides, I know each and every of Uncle Bilbo's songs." She kissed her father's brow and followed the Elf maiden.

* * *

Baraz followed Arwen through a maze of halls and ivy-covered corridors and towards the sleeping quarters.

She stopped in front of a door that was just on the outside of a little courtyard with a fountain. She opened the door onto a beautifully decorated room with a little bed, just the proper size for her. She then smiled down at her guest. "It was your mother's when she first came here. I thought it'd suit you."

Baraz smiled back and entered the room, revelling in the paintings on the walls – all of flowers she had never seen before – and on the balcony that gave onto the waterfall over the city – but that strangely didn't make any noise at all. "I am touched, thank you."

Arwen walked to the wardrobe on one side of the room and opened it, taking a light tunic made of white silk that she placed on the bed. "This is for sleeping in."

Baraz looked at the garment than at her host. "I really am thankful for everything that you've done. For me, but also for my father and, some time ago, for my mother."

Arwen smiled and sat on the bed, silently inviting her to do the same.

There was a quiet silence when both women sat next to each other and glanced through the open doors and onto the waterfall beyond.

Then Baraz glanced up at the Elf once more. "How was she? When she came back from the Mountain?"

Arwen didn't meet her gaze, instead lowered hers on her folded hands in her lap. "She was as should be expected when you see someone you love die to save your life..." She then looked at her, sadness embedded in her soft gaze. "Has she ever told you what happened?"

Baraz shook her head. "She never wanted to talk about the Battle in itself. She always...she said only the outcome had importance. But Da often said that she still had nightmares about it..."

"I guess she did..." Arwen sighed. "She never told me herself either. Your friend Kíli did. He too was wary, but unlike Ariana, he needed to speak about it to grieve." She paused. "Would you like me to tell you?"

Baraz thought for a moment. She had always wanted to know, but had always perhaps been...afraid to discover her mother's past and the ghosts that followed her everywhere. "I think I do."

Arwen nodded. "She told me this: when Erebor was under siege, she went to Gandalf for help. He himself was allied with the Men of Dale – or Laketown I believe by then – and Thranduil of Greenwood. She became quickly good friends with Legolas, Thranduil's son." Baraz nodded at that. She had known too. Ever since her youngest age, she had always asked what the Prince of Greenwood looked like, for to her, he was like a hero, an invincible hero. "Legolas was tasked to protect her during the Battle, and they stationed near the Front Gate to alert the Dwarves of the Company of Thorin."

There was a long pause. Baraz could see, could taste almost, the scene in her head. Her mother standing in front of the Front Gate, the two golden statues erected before it surely broken at that time. She was carrying a bow, just like her daughter, and was followed by a tall Elf with flowing blonde hair and beautiful green eyes. In her mind, Legolas. Yes, she could see the scene.

"The rest I learnt from Kíli. The Battle began, but he himself had stayed with his uncle Thorin. Fíli, your father Bofur and a few others had joined Ariana on the front line. Fíli saved her life. And it cost him his. As I understand it, he was struck by the blade of the Orc he had only just stopped from killing her."

Baraz gasped. She pictured her Fíli, his chest sliced in two by the force of the blow, falling backwards. She pictured herself catching him and trying to soothe him, and him smiling at her one last time before closing his eyes for all eternity. She started crying.

"I am sorry. It is a little too much. I should not have told you that."

"No, my lady, you did well." Baraz sniffed her tears away. "My mother once told me, a long time ago, that dark times were ahead. I do not know how she knew, but I am somehow certain that she was right. And if dark times are ahead, I want to be prepared to see those I love suffer."

Arwen placed a soothing hand on her leg, and let her swallow her pain for a moment.

* * *

Minutes stretched into an instant, and then, finally, Baraz seemed to have grieved the news.

Her blue eyes settled on the Elf maiden again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can." Arwen smiled softly.

"My mother told me that there was a child here before. A child of her race – and mine, I suppose. His name was-"

"Estel." Arwen's smile faltered a little. "Yes... Estel is not here anymore. He has grown into a Man... And he left."

Baraz was suddenly aware of the pain she had brought upon her companion, and felt the need to apologize. "I am sorry, I-"

"No, do not feel sorry. I do miss him, but I know I will see him some time soon." She smiled again, even if her smile was sadder. "What does 'Baraz' mean in the language of your forefathers? If I may know?"

Baraz chuckled darkly. "I'm not sure I can tell you, for Khuzdûl is a secret language. But after all, if my name means something, there is not harm done." She paused. "It means 'red'. I was called after my hair colour."

Arwen nodded then stood. As she prepared to leave Baraz alone, she turned around with a mischievous smile on her lips. "Well, I do not really like the sonority of it. So to me, you shall be _Aier._"

"What does that mean?"

"Little One." And she exited the room in silence.

Baraz whirled around and looked at the waterfall on the other side of her room. Baraz, Poppy, _Aier_..._Pernogoth_... She would have to get used to all these names...

* * *

Time in Rivendell seemed to pass slower than in any other place. Days stretched into weeks, then into months, and soon, the chill of winter fell onto the Elven city.

Soft mounts of snow fell onto the courtyards and icicles formed onto the trees, and Baraz and her father decided it was time to leave.

They visited Bilbo's room one morning, but found the Hobbit heavily asleep.

Baraz sat by his side, her hand stroking his now totally white hair, that felt light as a feather. More wrinkles had appeared on his face, and his breathing was somewhat laboured as he slept. She also knew he had troubles walking without aid, but he still refused a walking stick, pretending that eleventy-one was not a canonical age. But it was.

She looked at her father who stood at the door, his arms crossed, worry painted on his face. "I think we ought to leave without Uncle."

"Yes, I think it'd be wiser..." He offered her his hand and they exited the room, silently closing the door behind them. "I will inform Lord Elrond. You go and pack your things."

She stopped him. "No, Da... I have questions for Master Elrond. I will go to him. Besides, I think it wiser to leave in the morning. I do not like rushed goodbyes."

Bofur nodded. He knew how Baraz had quickly made friends in Rivendell. The Lady Arwen, of course, who had once too gained Ari's trust, but also Glorfindel and Elrohir, one of Elrond's sons. He had taken a shine to her and had taught her how to wield an elven blade, to his very dismay. But what his daughter wanted, she always gained one way or another. He knew better than to forbid her things. "Aye, me neither." It was a lie, of course. If he had his way, they'd be gone within an hour. "I will go to the kitchens and ask for supplies."

Baraz nodded and kissed his brow before hurrying towards the long and high staircase leading to Master Elrond's quarters.

* * *

Her feet brought her to a balcony that gave onto the bridge from which she had arrived the first day. Master Elrond was sitting on a bench, reading a book he held in his long-fingered hands. He did not raise his head upon her arrival.

"You wish to leave, Miss Baraz."

She did not enquire on how he knew. He had the foresight, after all. So she nodded. "Indeed we do. Winter has come and it will take some time before we reach the Lonely Mountain. Our family has waited for us long enough..." She bit her lip, realising how that must have sounded, and chose to add something. "We thank you for your hospitality. I have never felt this peaceful in my life, not even in the Shire."

At that the Elf raised his head, a smile on his lips. "I am glad you found some peace here, young one. Does your father share the same feeling?" His eyes had a mischievous twinkle to them.

She chuckled. "I do not know... Da is willing to leave quickly, but I think he likes it here. He just...fears what his kin might say."

"I am familiar with the Dwarves' uneasiness around the Elves, of course, but I was under the impression that the Company of Thorin had appreciated their stay here."

"Unfortunately, the Company of Thorin doesn't rule under the Mountain."

Elrond nodded gravely. He then closed his book. "I believe you wished to ask something."

Baraz smiled. "Yes, I did." She paused, her smile fading. "I wondered if you knew why Uncle Bilbo's health has deteriorated so quickly after we left the Shire."

Elrond's brow furrowed. "I do. But I do not know if you should." Baraz took offence, and he quickly continued. "Do not get me wrong. You are wise, for your age, and I am sure that you know many a thing. But these are stories that would make you stay awake at night and dream of monsters and wars and death. I would rather not put this burden on your shoulders." He sent her an almost paternal look.

She nodded. She understood, somehow. Arwen's revelations some time prior had already set her soul into mourning, so what would that big secret provoke in her if even the great Lord Elrond was weary of it? "Can I at least know if he'll die?"

Elrond stood, his tall height towering over her, but never menacing her. He put a soothing hand on her shoulder and smiled softly. "He will die, like all of us. But he will die peacefully, of old age, and that is all we can hope for him."

Baraz shed a tear but smiled nonetheless. She was relieved. If Bilbo died of nothing else than old age, then she'd be happy. She knew her mother had died peacefully, and that was all she wanted for her dearest Uncle...

* * *

The next morning, Baraz and Bofur said their goodbyes to the Elves gathered in the front courtyard. Arwen placed a kiss on Baraz' brow and told her they'd see each other again. She also blessed Bofur with a long life, and even if he was trying to be as grim as possible, he was touched, she could see it.

Lord Elrond asked them not to pass the Misty Mountains too close of Dimríl Dale, and saw them off. The twins were on patrol somewhere, and Glorfindel had been gone to Loríen for many a week now.

So father and daughter set off into the dawn and towards the path the Company had once used to cross the Mountains. A path that soon would rejoin the one they took everytime they journeyed to the Lonely Mountain. A path that would lead them towards the Greenwood, then the ruins of Laketown, and then finally, New Dale.

Baraz straightened the straps of her bag on her shoulder, and began singing a song her mother had taught her early on...

_Far over the Misty Mountains rise_

_Leave us standing upon the height._

_What was before we'll see once more_

_Is our kingdom a distant light?_

_Fiery Mountain beneath the Moon_

_The words unspoken will be there soon_

_For home a song that echoes on_

_And all who find us will know the tune..._


	5. 4, The return to Erebor

_A/N: I'm back a little sooner than I scheduled. I hope you're not disappointed. :p Just so you know, after last chapter, I received some...for lack of a better word...useless reviews. I just wanted to be clear on something: I appreciate constructive criticism, I even encourage it because I am far from being a perfect writer and I think that when choosing to work on something as big as LOTR, one has to have done his/her homework properly. This person chose to point out (quite violently I must say) that I made huge mistakes in Rhenio mi Ennor, the prequel of this story. NO, I did NOT do my homework on that work, and besides, the mistakes I made are made by most writers out here, so chill out. I would have accepted those critics if that person didn't come back again and again to try and just destroy me. It didn't work. I don't care if you didn't like it. Just don't read it._

_Now that is clear, please, do proceed with the next chapter. Oops, I did my homework here as well._

* * *

_**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter:** Bard, a Man of Laketown and Thrice Welcome from the The Desolation of Smaug OST; Craftsmen Dwarves from the The Battle for Middle-Earth 2 soundtrack._

* * *

**4\. The return to Erebor**

* * *

_**3002 T.A.**_

* * *

After they left Rivendell, the course of Bofur and Baraz' trip was quicker. Between them and their hurry to rally the other side of the Mountains, they reached Greenwood within two weeks, and the ruins of Esgaroth in another month.

Baraz didn't even try to hide her disappointment when they crossed the forest by the newly redone Old Road and saw no Elf. Bofur chastised her enthusiasm and said she had spent too much time with the Tall Folk already and needn't another meeting, but his daughter had a hidden agenda.

Whenever they'd cross Greenwood on their way and stopped for the night, she would sneak away when her father was sleeping and would hunt the Elves in their many clearings. That's how she met Tauriel, the red-haired Elf shield-maiden.

Tauriel had been a friend of her mother's, and told her many stories about their meeting and the fact that, at first, the She-Elf wanted the Daughter of Men dead for sneaking away unseen. Then they too had become close and each time Baraz would wish to meet her, and each time they would talk about Ariana and stories of times long past and of their respective friends.

But this time, the forest was mute. There was no bird song, no elven song in the air. The forest itself seemed sicker than before.

Something was wrong.

* * *

All her life, Baraz had known only burnt ashes and ruins on the lake where Esgaroth once stood. Her father didn't like the place, he said it reminded him too much of what he had lost during the Quest. But she, in her almighty human curiosity, had always wandered off into the fallen city, trying to find trinkets that had survived the dragon fire. Once, she had found a little puppet buried in the ashes. She had given it to a girl in New Dale. A girl who, now, was a happy mother of five.

This time, the wind seemed stronger on the Lake, and the ashes on Esgaroth flew into the air and away, revealing other sights under them.

Bofur looked the other way, but she could not.

Bodies. Skeletons.

That had been hidden away before but that were bare to her eyes now.

"Now you know why I don't like it here..."

Bofur hurried quicker, and she followed, her eyes unable not to glance at the dead every now and then. It was the first time that she witnessed the fury of Smaug's fire. Burnt skeletons, melted bones, skulls forever frozen in a silent scream. Had it really been that horrible?

She had met King Bard only once during her childhood. He was a tall, haunted Man. She had never thought of it before, but he surely had the scars of his encounter with the dragon engraved in his mind. It surely haunted him at night, with nightmares of a city burning and of people dying. Only he had managed to put an end to it, and even then...more deaths ensued.

Now his elderly son Bain ruled over Dale. And he never talked of these times, even if he had been there. He and his sisters had been teenagers when the dragon came down from the Mountain. But he didn't look as haunted as his father, and now, Baraz guessed it was because Bard had put his children on a barge as soon as he saw the Mountain glow golden and that he had saved them the sight of the ruined Esgaroth.

Such pain and suffering...

Baraz had never thought of it this way before. In her innocence, she had perhaps thought that Smaug had been killed before he could do any harm and that Laketown had been burnt to the ground by its people emigrating to the newly-found Dale. How wrong she had been...

In this precise moment, as she glanced at the Mountain in the horizon, her destination, she wished to whomever would listen that she would never live something as scorching and awful as what had happened in Esgaroth...

* * *

They entered Dale in mid-morning on a market day. They crossed the path of many a farmer or merchant heading to the city to buy or sell goods. But none stopped them or even seemed to recognize them.

It was a welcome change, sometimes, to arrive to Dale and not to be stopped by everyone. In Hobbiton, Baraz and her father were well-known, and their every move was impeded by a legion of Hobbits greeting them and/or inviting them over for tea. While here...well...no one cared about their arrival. They were just another couple of strange people heading to the Mountain.

For a cold day of winter, the day was sunny enough to make the city look beautiful. All the trees had long since lost their leaves, but children had hung lanterns and toys in their branches, tokens given to Nature so the next year would be prosperous. Everywhere the colours of the people's clothes made a joyful pattern of rainbows. The heavy capes and bonnets themselves were sometimes decorated with the pattern of a flower.

Baraz loved Dale. Whenever she visited her cousins in Erebor, she and Fíli would spend their entire days losing themselves in the city, where no one knew who they were.

* * *

"Bofur!"

The Dwarf and his daughter stopped, whirling around to see who greeted them in the middle of the market-place. Ída, the Dwarf-wife of Nori, hurried to stand before them, a chastising look on her face.

"We were expecting you sooner!"

Bofur sighed and rolled his eyes while Baraz smiled, amused by the situation. Ída was acting as Bofur's mother sometimes, even if they were not related. But Nori was his best-friend, and sometimes, it seemed to give her some power over the males. "We were slowed down."

"So I see!" She shook her head and then lifted her dark eyes to meet Baraz'. "You haven't aged a day!" She smiled widely. "I know someone who'll be happy to see you. He's been talking non-sense for days now. Thought you had been eaten by a Troll or taken prisoner by the old wizard in Greenwood..." She huffed as she turned around to guide them through the market and towards a freer road towards the Mountain. "These younglings and their stupid stories..."

Baraz chuckled as she and her father followed the female Dwarf through the maze of streets. She could only be talking of Fíli, and it warmed her heart to know he had been worried for them...

* * *

The Lonely Mountain was no more an abandoned city. It was once again buzzing with life, its halls lighted by a thousand torches, its walls and stone-floors shining with the incessant polishing of feet and hands, its people happy and no more pariahs.

Baraz and Bofur climbed the stairs leading to the Front Gate and were greeted by some Dwarves who were mending one of the statues. It had been dented on the figure's nose and they were smoothing the stone with great care. Among them, Baraz recognized Azùr, one of the dwarflings she had been brought up with. Although he did not give any indication that he knew her at all.

Ída guided them both towards the sleeping quarters on the right side of the Mountain – the left side was for the royals, and if Baraz was often seen in that aisle, it was only because Fíli lived over there with his own father.

* * *

"Bofur!"

There was a great commotion as Bofur put his bag down to greet and then embrace the red-haired dwarf hurrying his way. "Nori, my dear friend."

Baraz smiled at the reunion and was given an equally bruising hug by he she had come to call 'Uncle Nori' before he pulled them both towards his own quarters.

"We haven't managed to be given quarters for you two just yet – I think Dain didn't actually believe you'd stay for good this time – so you'll have to sleep with us for a few nights more."

Bofur smiled. "I do not mind the company, to be honest."

Nori smiled back, then gestured Baraz to come closer. "I've arranged a bigger mattress this time. You'll have to thank Brand for it."

Her brow furrowed. "Brand? The _Prince_?"

"He's a nice lad and he's often down here. He's as keen on us Dwarves as you are on Hobbits." He chuckled at his own joke. "Come now, settle down before you go pay your respects."

* * *

It was customary to pay your respects to the King when arriving in Erebor. Each and every time, Baraz held her head down and tried not to pay too much attention to the obvious insults Dain and sometimes his son Thorin Stonehelm sent her way. 'Half-Breed' was their favourite, among other more colourful words they thought she did not understand because they uttered them in Khuzdûl.

After they had set their bags down, Bofur and Baraz followed Nori towards the throne room. It was a huge hall with a gigantic statue of Thrór, Thorin Oakenshield's grandfather and first owner of the Arkenstone. In front of that statue was the throne itself, on top of which the stone shone its bright and so peculiar light.

Dain was sat upon said throne, his mithril crown on his bold head, his small dark eyes two slits as they approached. On his left stood his son and heir Thorin Stonehelm, dark short hair and grey eyes, a scar running along his left cheek. On the right stood Kíli and his son Fíli. Their royal blood prevented Dain from placing them among the common crowd, and they stood there, a painful reminder of a time that still could be. A time when Kíli sat on the throne.

"Hail Dain Ironfoot. May your beard grow ever longer..."

Bofur bowed before the throne and Baraz, some paces back in respect, did the same, her eyes going to Fíli, who was trying not to smile.

"Stand, Bofur, son of the Blue Mountains." Bofur stood straighter but Baraz kept her back arched, knowing all-too-well that any wrong move she made would be held against her for decades to come. "And arise, Baraz, daughter of Bofur." She stood straighter, but still a little bent, as her height offended most Dwarves. "It is good to know you have arrived safe and sound."

Thorin shifted on his two feet, and Baraz gritted her teeth. She knew the Crown Prince didn't like her, and it was quite reciprocated. In fact, they had made it quite clear the day she gave him that scar. One of her arrows had grazed his cheek and almost blinded him. But he had asked for it. So now, she knew that he was not content that their journey had been seemingly peaceful and without dangers.

Bofur cleared his throat. "Your Majesty is too kind." He bowed the head, which he had bare since it was forbidden to wear a hat in the presence of the King. "I would ask once more for your assistance." Dain pressed the matter with a raised hand. "With the passing of my wife," he did not say her name for it was a name that rendered the King less inclined to a good mood, "my daughter and I have decided to settle down here. Indefinitely."

There was a quick rumour among the Dwarves in the room. All but those beside the throne.

Dain nodded gravely. "I will find you suitable quarters in the toy-makers' aisle."

Bofur bowed the head again. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Dain then dismissed them by starting a conversation with his son, and the hall began to buzz with life once again.

* * *

Kíli and Fíli quickly got down from their perch and hurried towards father and daughter. Baraz soon found herself brought into a rib-cracking hug from Kíli, and she returned the embrace eagerly.

The same went with Fíli, who chuckled happily as she squeezed the life out of him.

"I've missed you..."

"And I you..." he was smiling widely, and she returned the smile without difficulties. She was with the two people she loved the most beside her father. She was content.

"We were worried something had happened along the way..." Kíli brought the two younger ones' attention back to him. "There has been talk of goblins and orcs in these parts once again."

Bofur shook his head. "We have not seen any goblins this side of the Misty Mountains."

Baraz huffed. "Yes, because there were some West." Kíli furrowed his brow. "The Elves of Rivendell had to hunt some down after they attacked some of their people." Bofur cleared his throat uneasily. "What, Da? I can tell Uncle Kíli!"

"Of course you can tell me." Kíli sighed. "These rumours are worrying me. It looks like last time..."

Bofur shook his head. "It is not like last time, because there is no danger up ahead. Now," he took his daughter's hand, "shall we go somewhere and properly celebrate our arrival? Where is my good-for-nothing brother anyway?"

Kíli chuckled. "In the kitchens, I should say. Come, let's have a good pint of ale together first."

Fíli then stopped the group from advancing. "I am sorry, Father, but I would like to speak to Baraz. Alone..."

Bofur's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth as if to refuse, but Kíli pushed his fellow Dwarf forward and nodded. "Of course. We will see you later."

* * *

Fíli guided Baraz towards his chambers in the royal quarters. They crossed the path of many a servant, and each and every one of them stared in their wake, as if Baraz' presence in this part of Erebor was some kind of...sin.

"Fil, what is it you have to talk about that needs for us to be locked away in your room?" She entered said room and went to sit on the familiar bed, her eyes not even looking around for she knew each object by heart.

He closed the door with a sigh and went to sit on an armchair facing her, his fingers toying with the blanket thrown over one arm and on which you could see the dwarven runes for 'Fíli'. "Something happened a week ago. Something that made us decide...well...something...that concerns you as well."

Baraz' brow furrowed. "You're starting to worry me..."

"Hear me out first..." He held a hand up. "I'm asking you the most difficult task not to interrupt before I'm done."

"I'll try."

Fíli smirked, knowing very well it'd be hard for her to keep her mouth shut, then his face became grave, almost graver than anything she could have seen before. Its beautiful features disappeared under a shadow and his blue eyes lowered onto his hands as if he was picturing something. "Some time ago, I sent you a letter saying Dain was beginning to be so paranoid he believed Father and I to plot against him to take back the throne..." Baraz nodded absent-mindedly. She remembered. "It has taken a turn for the worst. We are being watched everytime we set a foot out of Erebor, and are obligated to follow the King and his son around as if we were puppies." he sighed. "Last week, Dain called for us in his personal study. He wants me to marry." Upon seeing Baraz would want to talk, he held out a hand to shut her up. "His intent is quite clear: he wants to choose my bride to make sure I would not be a threat to him anymore. I am my father's heir after all, and therefore, Thorin's heir."

He paused, his eyes going to the sword placed against the wall next to the door. It had been Thorin's during the Battle of Azanulbizar. Fíli, just like Baraz, had heard many stories of the famous Thorin Oakenshield, and he more than anyone else wanted to make his great-uncle's memory proud.

"Then we learnt something else." His blue eyes met Baraz'. "When the King learnt about your arrival and the fact that you and Bofur wanted to stay indefinitely, he gave orders. To spy on you. He wants to know who you meet, what you talk about, what you do of your days, everything."

"Why?" She bit her lip, remembering she should have remained silent.

"Dain didn't like your mother. He hated her, in fact. Every person that speaks her name, you know..." she nodded. She knew. "The fact that you are only half a Dwarf makes you look like a monster in his eyes. He believes you are a spy from the Men of Dale. Or worse, from the Elves." he sighed again. "So, you need protection." He looked at her more intently. "We thought of something that might settle things down for both our parties."

He paused, and let her understand on her own. After a long moment, Baraz' lips opened in a silent gasp. "Are you saying that-?"

"We should announce our betrothal." he nodded to himself. "This way, Dain cannot choose my bride and you will be protected by your link to our part of the royal family. Hurting you would be like hurting me or Father, and there'd be a civil war brewing. He knows that very well..."

"But, Fil... I don't want to marry you!" She stared at him in a new light, trying to imagine what it'd be to kiss him, to...do some things with him when she did not feel that way for him. Worse, it'd be like kissing or sleeping with her own brother...

He chuckled darkly. "I'm sorry to say it, but neither do I, Baraz... But for the moment, it is the wisest and safest course for both of us. Fortunately, the Dwarves' betrothals can last forever and sometimes they don't even turn into proper marriages."

"So what, you intend to just wait for Dain to die to marry someone else?"

He shrugged. "We'll see. Father says something is preparing in the East. He's afraid Mordor is awakening. Everyone, just like your father earlier, dismisses his worries like nothing, but...I fear he is right."

Baraz sighed, her eyes going to her hands. She imagined one of the Dwarves' beautifully carved rings on her finger, braids in her hair, walking hand-in-hand with Fíli, but everything for just a pretence... And if war was truly coming, then this could end faster than falling asleep.

With another deep sigh, she nodded. "Alright. Braid my hair. Better make them believe our private discussion was your proposal."

Fíli's eyes widened. "Really? You agree?"

She nodded. "I agree. And if our...engagement...can protect Father as well, I'd rather have it before Dain and his son try something like pushing him through one of the balconies."

Fíli nodded and moved to sit behind her on the bed. He undid the bun she had put her red hair in, and began deftly braiding her hair with the braids of his family. Each family's braids were different so that its members could recognize each other in gatherings. Baraz knew that. She knew all the customs of the Dwarves.

But in that very moment, she was far from agreeing to them...


	6. 5, The beginning of the end

_A/N: Hello everyone! Here I am back for one last chapter before TBOTFA is out... I can't tell you how horrible I feel at the moment knowing it'll probably be the last EVER film of the franchise, since The Silmarillion is a no go... :'( I so dearly want to see this; and at the same time, I don't. Duh. Anyway, last chapter before this last film is out, so I'll post two chapters next time: one to "celebrate", and one for Christmas time! Enjoy!_

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_**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**_

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_**Playlist for this chapter:** Craftsmen Dwarves; The Dwarves explore; and Pride of the Dwarves from Battle for Middle-Earth II: the video game OST._

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**5\. The beginning of the end**

* * *

_**3018 T.A.**_

* * *

_**July**_

* * *

"Baraz!"

The sound of her name made the young woman raise her eyes from her current work. Upon seeing Fíli hurrying her way, she finished the bandage and smiled down at the child she had been tending to. "There, you can go. But be careful not to burn yourself again."

The child smiled at her and ran off with a 'Thanks Miss Baraz!' while she wiped her hands on her apron and rose to greet her fiancé.

It had been long years since Baraz and Fíli announced their betrothal to Erebor's court. If, at first, not many accepted the match among the Dwarves, years and years of appearing hand in hand and of quiet denials at her being unfaithful had calmed things down.

And if Baraz still felt she was imprisoned in a life she had not chosen, well...at least she knew the man she was supposed to marry.

* * *

For years then she had been acting as healer to the Men of Dale – as the Dwarves refused her help, as she was 'only' a half-breed. But this work calmed her mind, and the kindness of her patients made her forget sometimes that she was growing old but not freer. Time passed, terrible, murdering people she had become to like. And she remained there, unmoving, wrinkles still refusing to appear on her ever-juvenile face.

King Bain of Dale had died some years prior, and his son, Brand, had taken up the throne. He was by then 38, and had fathered two daughters and a boy of 17, Bard. Baraz had been there for the delivery of the second child, who had presented herself by the siege rather than the head. She managed to save both mother and child, and in her honour, Brand called the child Ariana.

Nori had once told her that she'd like the then Prince of Dale and she remembered their meeting quite well. Brand had been injured after a sparring gone wrong, and while his current healers thought they'd have to cut the hand up to the wrist, she had managed to save him from it. He lacked a finger, but at least, he could still hold a sword. Ever since then, he called upon her when he or his relatives were ill or in need of surgery, and their friendship had been swift to thrive.

When asked where she had learnt her medical skills, Baraz's eyes would darken with sadness, because it had been Oin who had taught her, and there was still no word from the colony in Moria. She held little hope that her friends had survived, and it still hurt to talk about the wise silver-haired Dwarf that had once asked her to call him 'Grandfather'. Bofur had refused when she had told him that – she was still a teenager at the time – but when Oin had told both that he had always thought of Ariana as his daughter, they could do little but accept. And with this newly-found kinsman, Baraz had also found a patient teacher who had taught her everything she knew about healing plants and manners to bind limbs to help the healing.

* * *

Fíli reached her as she put her apron to the side. "We have been called to the King's counsel."

Baraz' brow furrowed. Ever since she had been officially linked to Fíli, she was considered one small part of the royal family, and had been sometimes asked to participate in official events, but Dain tried to make these occurrences as scarce as possible.

So she wondered why he was asking for her presence at something as important and forbidden to her as a Royal Counsel.

Fíli familiarly took her hand as they hurried from her little office in the city and towards the Mountain. She had grown accustomed to this, but still felt it was a lie. But her friend had made no other move, and she knew that, at least, he would never force something else on her.

"Do you know what this is about?"

He shrugged, his gaze hard on the path ahead. "I guess it has something to do with the brewing war at hand... Which is no good at all."

A few months prior, scouts had told the Kings of a merging of an army South in Mordor, and the Elves had gone so far as to warn them of some activity down in Dol Guldur in the forest. What Ariana had warned her daughter against seemed to have caught up with them.

The days seemed shorter, even in summer, and a cold wind seemed to never fail to get down from the Misty Mountains, freezing the people's blood and hopes at the same time.

* * *

They reached the Mountain in time to see Gloin and his son Gimli enter the hall. Gloin, upon seeing the two younger ones, waited for them. "Summoned as well?"

Fíli nodded but didn't utter a word. Gloin was of royal blood. His great-grandfather or something like that had been Thorin's ancestor's brother. Or so Baraz had been told. She had never discussed the fact that he was invited to every part of the King's official life.

She and Gimli were not really close. The older Dwarf was very patronizing with her – and with everyone younger than him – but she appreciated his company, especially during long diners where ale flowed, because when he was tipsy, he became the funniest dwarf to be around.

"It must be important if your little fiancée has been called for too..."

Baraz threw Gloin a harsh glance. "You know, I'm right here, you can talk to me directly, Uncle Gloin..."

He rolled his eyes at the familiar name. Everyone in Thorin's company had become her uncle by friendship to her mother and father, but Gloin had never liked that nickname. When Ariana told her daughter that it had to do with the fact that he did not quite like her during their Quest, she had understood why he was always telling her off. But instead of stopping to call him Uncle, she had continued, in a mischievous way to spite him.

* * *

There was quite the crowd in the Counsel Chamber when they arrived: Dain and his son, of course, but also Kíli, Dwalin, the colossus Baraz was secretly afraid of but who proved to be more of a big cuddly thing than anything else, Nori, his older brother Dori, and some of Dain's generals.

"Ah, there they come. We are all here at last." Dain pointed at one guard. "Close the door behind you. No one can disturb this meeting." The guard bowed the head and exited the room, closing the huge doors behind him in a booming sound.

Baraz sat in-between her betrothed and his father, and upon seeing the mask of gravity on Kíli's otherwise joyful face, she knew something important had indeed happened.

Dain stood at his end of the table. "Dearest Dwarves," he paused at Baraz, "and kin. I have called upon you today for an important purpose that shall change the face of our world." He produced a letter from his pocket. The paper was of a soft peach colour, and it struck Baraz at that moment that it hadn't been sent by a Dwarf. The writing she could see on it was too curvy.

This was the doings of an Elf.

"You all know that Mordor has awaken. Our beloved Mountain and the city next to it have been preparing for the worst some quite some time now." Most Dwarves nodded at that. Baraz didn't know it had been so grave that Erebor was already preparing for a siege... "But now, one of our...allies calls for...advice."

He waved the letter before him. Dwalin cleared his throat. "Is this from the Blue Mountains? Have the goblins attacked once again?"

Gloin threw his fist on the table. "Or is it from the Iron Hills?"

Dain sat back down. "Neither. This letter comes from the Elves of Rivendell."

There was a general gasp around the table. Some stood, mostly generals, to display their hatred towards the Tall Folk. Dain appeased them with a hand and they all sat back down.

"Their Lord, Elrond, is well-known for his wisdom and power of foresight."

Thorin glared openly at his elder. "You have never said you were exchanging letters with this...Elrond, Father."

Dain returned the glare. "Who I exchange letters with is none of your business, Thorin!" he sighed as if to regain his calm. "The fact is, I have been warned of minor problems before by Lord Elrond. And in turn, I have vowed our...friendship to him and his kin. Not to the Elves of Mirkwood," he added, for many a general was ready to speak up again, and Thranduil and his kin were still forbidden to enter Erebor even decades after the Battle of Five Armies. "This morrow, I received this letter, asking of us to send a delegation to Rivendell."

"What for?" Dwalin did not discuss the fact. He, as all those who had been part of the Quest, knew that Lord Elrond was mostly fond of Dwarves. He would not trick them.

"He says he has foreseen something that will change the lives of all races on this Earth. He also says he asked for delegations of all races to attend this exceptional meeting." He paused, gauging every person around the table, stopping a fraction of a second more on Baraz. "I called upon you here and now to choose who among us will go."

There was the rumour of whispers around the table, and Kíli, next to Baraz, placed a discreet hand on hers in her lap. With a squeeze, he told her all she needed to know. He wanted her to go. And it made sense.

But she would not, could not, speak up first. She was the only female around the table, and did not want to spite the King even more than with her mere presence.

"I will go. And my lad with me. We are of royal blood and will represent you at this...meeting." Gloin stood, quickly followed by his son Gimli, who had his brown eyes cast down and his jaw set. He was not keen on it, apparently.

Dain nodded. "This is the wisest choice indeed, cousin. For I need some of you more than others." he looked pointedly at Kíli and Dwalin who nodded back. "Who else?"

One general, by the name of Frír, stood. "I will go, my Lord."

Dain nodded again. "We need one more." His eyes again met Baraz' across the table. She knew why he wanted her to go.

So she would.

She stood, and there was a gasp among those who had not followed the silent exchange. "I will go, Your Majesty. I am, after all, of dwarven blood. And my knowledge of the Elves of Rivendell can be useful."

Someone cleared his throat. It proved to be Dwalin. "My Lord, if I may... The lass is merely seventy-years-old, she cannot-" Dain lifted a hand and shut the other Dwarf up.

"If she wishes to go, she will, Dwalin. Plus, her healing skills can be of some use." He bowed the head at Baraz who found the respectful gesture puzzling. "I accept your will to go, young Baraz. But your betrothed has to accept."

All eyes went to Fíli who shifted, clearly uneasy. Then he nodded slowly. "I accept her leaving."

Dain nodded again. "Good. Then it is settled. Your company of four will leave in the morrow with fresh ponies. May your beards grow ever longer!"

The greeting was repeated along the table, then the meeting was dismissed.

* * *

Kíli and Fíli remained by Baraz' side. The older caught her arm and brought her to a dark corner in a corridor, his son following.

"Baraz, this is very important. You do understand the importance of this, don't you?" She nodded. "Good. Now, Gloin may be wise, but he is stubborn, and he hates the Elves. As does Gimli. Whatever Lord Elrond has summoned us for, it must be to try and reform an alliance of some sort. Whatever this is, you must promise me to do everything in your power to push Gloin to make the right choice."

Her brow furrowed. "I do not... He does not listen to me..."

"He will. You know the Elves' tongue. And if Dain is right, then other delegations will come. One from the Elvenhalls of Mirkwood most certainly. You must not let Gloin or Gimli or even Frír act disrespectfully towards any race, do you understand?" She nodded. "Good."

And as they walked through the corridors and towards her father's quarters where she'd pack, Baraz felt the importance of the task at hand befall her shoulders. She was probably Erebor's only chance to reform a healthy alliance with the Elves and Men... God that was not going to be difficult...

* * *

Bofur was not too happy to learn that his daughter and only child would leave his side to go back to Rivendell, especially not with three Dwarves that did not like her very much.

But after Kíli and Nori tried to convince him that she was old enough to protect herself from any threat, he accepted her leave and hugged her tight. When she'd leave in the morning, he would certainly already be at work in the mines.

Fíli promised to be there when they left, as all good fiancé should. He offered her a ring that had once been Dís', Kíli's mother's. He said it was to protect her, but deep down, she knew it was really a way to remind everyone that she was betrothed to him and that no harm could come to her. She wished it'd work, for Frír was far from being her favourite among the dwarven generals...

* * *

The following morning, at dawn, the four members of the Dwarves of Erebor's delegation were standing before the Front Gate of the Mountain, their ponies haltered, their bags ready and tied to the beasts' backs.

Gimli had taken his father's old axe and was fidgeting with it, clearly displeased by having to go.

Gloin stood stoic, his greying hair neatly plaited back, his hands folded in his back. He was waiting calmly as a statue, his eyes sometimes going to Baraz, who was caressing her pony's mane to calm herself and to make the lump in her throat disappear. To no avail.

Finally Frír got out of the Mountain with Dain, Thorin, Kíli and Fíli. He was carrying a roll that had obviously been written by Dain himself. He bowed before his King then moved to his own pony.

Dain opened his arms and a sickening smile appeared on his lips. "Good luck, my brothers. Good luck, young Baraz! You will surely need it!"

All bowed before the King, and then Fíli got down the stairs to bring her into a warm and tight hug. Their difference in height was sometimes making their embraces awkward, for Baraz was at least twenty inches taller than her supposedly beloved.

Fíli pulled back, and in a last attempt to prove their 'undying love', he placed a careful kiss on her cheek.

She tried a smile that felt false, and then she followed her new companions who were pulling their ponies towards the city.

With one last glance over her shoulder, Baraz left Erebor once again. And this time felt horribly like the last time...

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_A/N2: I know this chapter is kind of a filler, but I will often now be travelling through unseen scenes in either the books or the movies. As you all have guessed by now I suppose, Baraz' path will not be carrying her all the way to Mordor...far from it._


	7. 6, Many meetings

_A/N: Hello dear readers and Merry Christmas (if a bit late)! I wish you the best of New Year's Eves! And I am back, as promised, with two chapters: one for Christmas, and another to "celebrate" the end of the LOTR era..._

_I don't know what you thought of this last movie, but I liked it. Liked, not loved. There were some - many, in fact - useless scenes, and I'm still mourning the fact that poor Fili died like a nothing. Duh. Anyway..._

_Enjoy anyway! ;)_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

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**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Pride of the Dwarves from the Battle for Middle-Earth 2 OST; and Many Meetings from the Fellowship of the Ring OST._

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**6\. Many meetings**

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_**3018 T.A.**_

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_**October**_

* * *

Months had passed since the company had left Erebor, and still they had not arrived in Rivendell.

Baraz had had the most unwelcome pleasure to have to go around Greenwood to reach the Misty Mountains by the North. When she had asked her companions for the reason of such a long detour, they had told her with many a glare in her direction that they did not wish to cross the Elves' path, no matter what. When she pushed her luck as to tell her 'Uncle' Gloin that the last time he had crossed the Greenwood Thranduil and his kin had let him live, he refused to talk to her for days on end.

So they took the long road and countered the forest by the North. It took them twice as long to reach the Mountains as it would have taken them had they crossed the woods, but not a Dwarf seemed unphased by it.

The chilly air of the Northern Mountains did little to reassure Baraz. She had had her fair share of mountain-crossing, what with her numerous visits to the Lonely Mountain, but she had never had to walk through ten-feet-high snow, her pony freezing from the sheer cold, her hair rendered hard and easily breakable by the frost.

Gimli had seemingly taken upon himself to protect her from the harms of the way. They would cross Troll land, and if her mother had been lucky enough to escape three of these beasts, she doubted she could do the same in a place where the sun barely managed to get through the clouds. So she accepted the assistance, especially when it meant she could talk with someone who was apparently less and less inclined to hate her as the journey went on.

In some of their conversations, Baraz learnt that Gimli had been told not to trust her by his father, and that he had never discussed this general rule, that he had never really tried to know her better because everyone he knew insulted her in her back and hated her on principle. When she had assured him that he could trust her, he promised to think about it.

All in all, this journey only served to make her understand the depth of the hatred that her own species had towards her...only because she was different.

* * *

One morning in late October, they finally passed the last pass of the Mountains and went in sight of the West.

Baraz stood there, glancing down onto the endless plains and green grass and tall trees and realised in that moment that she had missed the Shire. She had missed her friends the dear Hobbits; her games with the youngest ones; the feasts; and the general sense of 'home' that accompanied her feet wherever she went.

"Young Baraz, is everything alright?"

She wiped a frozen tear from her white cheek and nodded at Gloin. "I was just being nostalgic. It has been too many years since I last came in this part of the world."

Gloin passed her with a harsh glance, pulling his whining pony behind him, soon followed by Frír, who never spoke in her presence anyway. Only Gimli lingered back with her. It was, to her knowledge, the first time he glanced onto the wonderful West.

"You had friends in these parts?"

She noticed his brown eyes were on the horizon and not on her, that he was not judging, merely asking. So she nodded. "I had. And I was born in these parts too..."

At that he looked at her strangely. "I thought you were born in the Blue Mountains!"

She chuckled darkly. "That's what my father tells everyone so I am given one more piece of...legitimacy. But in all truth, I was born in the Shire, among Halflings."

His brow furrowed. But he remained silent on the matter. "How long do you think it'll take us to reach the Elves?"

"A day, maybe two. Going down the Mountains is faster than climbing them." She chuckled without joy. "If you are in a hurry, perhaps you can let yourself roll down, it'd be faster..."

He snorted and passed her too. "Sometimes your humour is of the strangest sort..."

She glanced once more onto the green and yellow horizon of the soft morning, trying to guess where the flowery gardens of her childhood home lay, and then, finally, she followed her companions...

* * *

It took them a little more than two days to go down the Mountains. A chilly and fast wind slowed them down, and the loss of a pony who fell into a ravine made them lose a good part of their spare blankets and bedrolls. And two nights sleeping onto the cold and hard ground, covered by nothing but your own coat, was not the best way to start a journey.

So when they got in sight of the Hidden Valley, the Dwarves were all in the worst of moods. Baraz only had managed to keep a little bounce in her step as she approached the place she had loved so much during her first – and last to date – visit. She even found herself secretly wishing that Lord Elrond had seen them coming and would greet her more warmly than the others, if only to show them she was appreciated in his home.

But, in all certainty, this would not help the bad way they already saw her...

* * *

"Welcome to Imladris, my dear Dwarves!"

A figure emerged from the trees, all white tunic and golden hair and blue eyes. Baraz felt a natural smile form onto her lips as she recognized the Elf greeting them. He bowed his gracious head and placed a hand on his heart, and Baraz mirrored him while her companions grumbled in their beards.

"Glorfindel... _Nae saian luume_." _**It has been too long.**_

He stood straighter and smiled wider. "Baraz... _Cormamin lindua ele lle..._" _**My heart sings to see you.**_ He then looked at each Dwarf accompanying her and bowed the head again. "My name is Glorfindel. Lord Elrond has asked me to walk ahead to greet you and guide you to the city."

Frír adjusted his grip on his axe as if threatening the Elf who stood a good two heads over him. "And why has Lord Elrond not see fit to greet us himself?"

Glorfindel seemed unmoved by the certain insult. "Lord Elrond is tending to one of our guests who has been injured on his way here."

At that Frír did not know what to answer.

Gloin then took a pace forward. "My name if Gloin, and this is my son, Gimli. And this is Frír. You obviously already know our Miss Baraz." He punctuated this affirmation – which sounded more like an accusation to Baraz – with a pointed glance at her.

Glorfindel's smile returned. "Well met, Gloin, Gimli and Frír. Yes, I have had the honour and pleasure to meet Miss Baraz and her father when they passed through here many a year past. Now, if you may follow me, you surely are hungry." He gestured towards the road again in an ample and gracious move, and started to walk very slowly towards the city who remained still hidden by the trees.

Baraz all naturally took a place beside him while the Dwarves followed.

"Glorfindel, can I ask you something?"

The Elf looked down at her with a small smile. "You know you can always ask me anything..."

She smiled back. "Is my Uncle Bilbo..." she dared not finish.

He placed a careful hand on her shoulder, which made one Dwarf – she did not know who – cough in annoyance. "He still lives. Strong and funny as ever. His years here have made him forget the old age that suddenly took him. He is happy. Or so I believe. I have never asked him. He will be very happy to see you. We did not know you would be part of the delegation."

She smiled to herself at the happy news, then threw him a mischievous glance. "Well, I joined to make sure my dear relatives did not burn your lovely city down."

Glorfindel laughed his clear and bell-chiming laugh, and then they came in sight of Rivendell.

* * *

The city of Elves was as beautiful as Baraz remembered: the waterfall chanting behind the ivy-covered walls and pillars, endless courtyards with fountains and statues, and wherever the eye could see, Elves, both male and female, either quietly discussing or playing music or gathering fruits for a feast.

Behind her, Baraz' companions gasped at the sheer beauty of the place, and she knew that however you felt about the Tall Folk, you could never be indifferent to the peace and quiet that erupted from Rivendell's very walls...

But as they neared the bridge leading to a back courtyard – the same she and her father had said goodbye to their hosts years prior – Baraz noticed other figures than Elves. A tall, Man-like figure on a balcony; and several smaller figures under a canopy of flowers. Smoke arose from this smaller group.

She gasped as she caught sight of a mop of red hair.

"Glorfindel... Are there Hobbits in Rivendell? I mean, more than Uncle Bilbo?"

The Elf chuckled and pushed her forward onto the steep bridge – which apparently was enchanted because it was impossible to fall off. "You will see. I believe they too will be happy to see you."

They entered the courtyard and the few Elves present stood and bowed to their new guests. But it was a particular Elf that Baraz spotted on top of stairs. Her dark hair was adorned by a crown of silver that represented stars, and she had her hands folded before her, a smile widening as she met Baraz' eyes.

In her hurry to greet her hostess, Baraz forgot to bow the head, but the Elf did not take offence as the half-dwarf stood before her with a grin wider than her own.

"Arwen! It is so nice to see you..."

The Elf-maiden chuckled clearly and bowed to place a kiss on her brow. "It is a greater pleasure to see you, my dear _Aier_." She then opened her arms to greet the other Dwarves. "Welcome, my friends. I am the Lady Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. He is presently still tending to one of our guests, but he will meet you in a moment. I am tasked to see you to your rooms."

This time, not one Dwarf dared to make an unpleasant remark. Arwen had that power on everyone she appeared to: she was so completely beautiful that her beauty shut every thought out.

* * *

Baraz was naturally shown to her previous room – her mother's. Arwen told her that no one would ever sleep in there apart from her, that it was her room and no one else's, which made our young maiden's heart leap in her chest.

She was left alone for a moment when Arwen guided her three companions a little further down the hall to their own room. She revelled in how nothing had changed in there – but then time seemed to pass slower in Rivendell, as in every other Elven place.

She placed what remained of her pack onto the bed and put her weapons down onto a cabinet, where they stood out monstrously on the beauty on the room. It seemed so peaceful, so...pure...that even a wooden bow seemed like a heresy.

When she was done unpacking, Baraz decided it'd be better to change into new clothes, since those she was wearing had not been washed for days on end. She chose a simple blue linen tunic with a black leather belt, and settled for simple black cotton slacks. Just because she felt somehow naked without it, she placed a small dagger at her belt. She also tried to tame her dirty red hair, washing it then tying it into a ponytail that reached below her upper back.

When she was done, her eyes went to the balcony and the waterfall beyond. In the first time in what seemed like a century, she walked to it and leaned onto the stone railing to glance down at the water. It calmed her and reminded her why she was there. She had a mission. And she had volunteered for one reason and one reason only: she knew the Elves, she liked them, and she spoke their language.

Someone cleared his throat behind her and made her jump.

The waterfall had covered the knocks of a Man – because he was of the Men's kin – and his entrance in the room.

He was tall, even for someone his kin – almost as tall as an Elf – and had long greying brown hair and stormy grey eyes. He was dressed in the same colour and his scarred hands looked like the hands of a warrior. These were the scars a bowman could get – scratches and cuts from the bowstring – and those of a skilled swordsman.

She stood straighter somehow and bowed the head. "I am Baraz, daughter of Bofur and Ariana. Emissary to King Dain Ironfoot."

He smiled, the smile making his eyes twinkle in a pleasant and welcoming way. "Well met, Baraz of Erebor. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

She bowed the head again, then looked at him with a curious glance. "You are a Man, aren't you?"

He chuckled once, the sound deep but not mocking. "Yes, I am."

The simple affirmation was clear enough, but his strangely pointy ears and the fact that his eyes seemed older than what his overall appearance claimed was puzzling. Was he really only a Man?

But he shook her off her questioning. "Lady Arwen asked me to escort you to some of your friends. She is currently taken with your companions and thought you'd like to see...friendlier faces." He grinned.

Her eyes widened in curiosity. "Some of my friends? Well, now I am curious..." She walked to him and both exited the room.

This Aragorn's speech and manners really puzzling her. He was almost an Elf to her... And what about the way he seemed to steer through Rivendell as easily as if he had lived his whole life there?

* * *

They reached a sunny courtyard with many a bench to sit on.

Three little people were sat there, smoking through wooden pipes, talking animatedly.

Aragorn cleared his throat and all three little heads turned, eyes widening upon seeing Baraz. "I believe you might know this young person..."

He let out an amused laugh as all three Hobbits – because, of course, it were Hobbits – jumped from their perch and ran to the newcomer with many a 'Miss Baraz!' that made her smile widely.

She did not recognize those young Hobbits. They looked so young that they surely were still younglings when she left Hobbiton all these years prior. But she was so happy to be reunited with the Halflings that she sat on a bench and clapped in her hands. "I did not know some of my dear folk was here! What a pleasant surprise!"

They laughed, and she noticed Aragorn had left the scene, probably to give them a little more privacy.

One Hobbit, with sandy-blonde hair and big brown eyes, sat beside her in awe. "We did not know you were coming! Lord Elrond said some Dwarves might come from the Lonely Mountain, but we did not know!"

She chuckled. "I did not know either until I volunteered. And I am happy to have done so..." Then her eyes lingered on each and every small figure, and she sighed. "However, my memory is not as it used to be. So I am afraid I cannot put names on your friendly faces..."

The Hobbit next to her let out an exclamation and stood back next to his companions. "Oh, but of course!" He cleared his throat and stood straighter. "I am Meriadoc Brandybuck. But everyone calls me Merry."

Baraz nodded with a smile. Despite his living in Buckland most of the time, she knew Merry by name. He was related to Frodo and spent some time in Bag End in his early years.

The second Hobbit, with hair almost as red as hers and big blue eyes, the one who seemed the youngest, then tried to stand as tall as Merry beside him. "I am Peregrin Took. But you can call me-"

"Pippin!" Baraz let out the nickname with a gasp. She did the maths easily and quickly, then a harsh stare placed itself on Merry beside him. "And why is it that Pippin is here with you? He is not 33 yet! He is not even 30 yet!"

Merry stared at his feet in shame. "We did not...we did not..." he couldn't finish his somehow excuse, but Pippin changed the subject easily.

"You remember me, Miss Poppy?"

She smiled at the ancient nickname Bilbo had given her, and nodded. "I could not forget you even if I wished to, young Pippin..." then her stare became harder, albeit more mischievous. "I do hope you are not stealing from other Hobbits' gardens anymore!"

Pippin blushed and Merry laughed, but both remained silent on the matter, giving her all the information she needed.

Her eyes then went to the last Hobbit, who stood uneasily beside his companions. He was chubbier than the other two, with dirty-blonde hair and big hazel eyes. He was fidgeting with his hands to show his uneasiness.

"And who might you be, then, Master Hobbit?"

He met her eyes and she realised he had probably not been uneasy because of her but because of something else. He seemed to shake off other thoughts, then he cleared his throat. "Samwise Gamgee, Miss. I am Master Frodo's gardener."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, I remember you. Although I knew your father Hamfast better." Then she paused, realising the most important message Samwise had let pass. "Frodo's gardener, you said? Does this mean Frodo is here as well?"

All three Hobbits nodded, even if Sam was less enthusiastic than his companions. "He has been wounded on our way here. Lord Elrond is tending to him."

Baraz' brow furrowed. "Wounded? How? By whom?"

Merry opened his mouth as if to speak, but a deeper voice behind them prevented him from starting what seemed to be a tale to tell.

"Now now, Miss Baraz... There will be time for stories later!"

She stood abruptly and whirled around, her eyes wide. "Gandalf!"

The wizard stood as tall as ever, leaning on his staff as always, even if he looked more tired than usual. "Hello there, Miss Baraz. It has been too long since we last saw each other. Lady Arwen just informed me of your presence among us. I must say it is a nice surprise!"

She smiled. "I could not miss an occasion to leave Erebor..."

The wizard lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed? Well, it seems you too have a tale for us. But later, later! Now, we must go and feast!"

The three Hobbits noisily agreed that it was past time to eat, but Gandalf lifted a hand to stop them in their enthusiasm. "Wait wait! Samwise Gamgee, you shall come with me first. Frodo is awake." Sam gasped and hurried to stand by the wizard while he glanced down at Baraz. "Can you remember the way to the dining hall or should I send Glorfindel?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I do remember the way, thank you, Gandalf."

He nodded and left with Sam, even if he warned her with a quick 'Do not let these young rascals do anything foolish!'.

* * *

If in all truth Baraz did remember the way to the dining hall in perfect certainty, she could not remember a time when Rivendell had been that full of people. During her previous visit, she had indeed seen many an Elf walking this way and that and doing all sort of things, but as many as then.

All seemed to prepare for something, their pale eyes set onto the horizon, their thin lips set in a line as if there were darker thoughts to be thought, darker paths to be taken.

Merry and Pippin strode beside her, engrossed in some talk about the quality of the Elves' meals, their hands tucked in hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It made her feel like a mother guiding her children through a giant home, what with her height towering over theirs, and their so young age.

After doing the maths, she was certain that Pippin should not have taken part in whatever adventure this was. He was only 28 years of age, and that, among Hobbits, was far too young for anything. Including taking a trip from Hobbiton to Bywater. Merry, on the other hand, was not much older, with his 36 years of life. He had turned of age merely three years prior, and again, three years were not far enough in Hobbit's time.

Which made her wonder even more thoroughly: why had they all been summoned to Rivendell?

When they reached the hall, many a guest was already there, most standing around the table as they waited for their host.

Merry and Pippin immediately hurried down the table to Arwen, who had been talking to the Dwarves' emissaries. Baraz saw her welcome the two Hobbits and introduce them to the three taller folk.

The table would be full, she realised. Not less then twenty chairs were scattered around the long oaken trunk, silver plates disposed in front of each in a beautiful display like a star-map.

A soft clearing of throat made her look to her left, where Aragorn stood in his grey and somehow dull clothing. He looked out of place in such a colourful hall, but the small smile on his lips and the way he held himself made him still look friendly.

She bowed the head. "Aragorn."

He answered in kind. "Miss Baraz. I trust you have found your way here without assistance."

She looked around, her eyes playing on the scene and remembering a time when only her father, Arwen, Glorfindel and Elrond's sons joined their host for diner in less grand gathering. She nodded. "I dare say I could always find my way here wherever I was within the city walls, don't you?"

He smiled wider. "Yes, Rivendell does that to people." He paused then gestured her to join the party. "May I ask you something?" Upon seeing her nod, he proceeded. "Your mother...Ariana..." he shifted on his feet in a sudden take of uneasiness, "did she die of old age?"

Baraz nodded, her blue eyes settling on the tall Man, trying to find a secret he was surely hiding behind his enquiry. "Yes, she did." Her gaze became hard. "Did you know her?" It seemed impossible to her. After all, the Quest had taken place more than seventy-eight years prior, and Ariana had scarcely left Hobbiton at all after their settling down there, so...yes, it seemed improbable that Aragorn could have met her.

And still, he nodded. "I was but a child back then, but I remember her. She was kind and witty person. She made us all laugh."

"A child?! Pray tell, Aragorn, how is it that you could be so old and yet look so young?!"

He seemed on the brink of answering, but he glanced over her shoulder and his answer lost itself in a smile. "I fear this is a story for another time, Miss Baraz. For the time being, I believe another of your friends has presently arrived."

Her first thought went to Frodo, but as the figure approaching was smaller yet and accompanied by only one Elf instead of Gandalf and Sam, she soon realised it was a whole other person.

A smile formed onto her lips as she hurried to the newest addition's side. "Uncle Bilbo!"

The Hobbit had aged considerably in those last eighteen years, but thankfully, the process had seemed to have slowed down, as Glorfindel had told her. His hair was so thin you could see the pattern of the skull under it, and it was so white the shirt he wore seemed almost yellow. His little hands were covered in age-spots and one was gripping a thin cane while the other grasped onto his guide's arm.

He too smiled upon seeing her. "Poppy my dear! What a pleasant surprise! I was writing a song for you not this morning! I am so glad you came!"

Finally he reached her and she gestured to his support that she could take the matter in her own hands. She carefully placed the Hobbit's hand on the crook of her arm and guided him to the chair Glorfindel soon moved from the table, several places down from what it used to be.

While he sat, Bilbo continued to babble as if he had not realised there was a far more numerous company that night than any other. "Yes, a wonderful song, and I was thinking that perhaps your father could take the sheet and play music to it. I've always been partial to Bofur's flute, yes... What do you think, Poppy?"

She smiled, although she was realising that he had probably not noticed her and her father's absence as much as he should have. "It's a wonderful idea, Uncle. Now, excuse me for a moment. I have some friends to greet."

"Of course, Poppy, of course! Do go! You are young! Meet young people! Marry one! All I ask is don't choose Frodo... You'd be terrible for each other..."

She did not even roll her eyes at the old banter of her uncle who had always seemed to wish her to marry his heir so she officially entered the family. Instead, she placed a kiss on his cheek and joined her companions, thinking it best to stay low for the time being.

To her utmost surprise, Gloin did not chastise her for her familiarity with the old Hobbit. Instead, he gestured to the two younger ones not far and still engrossed in talk with Arwen.

"Do you know these young lads?"

She nodded. "I do. They were but younglings when I left Hobbiton, but I know them."

"And are Hobbits all as..." he made an ample gesture as if he could not find his words, "energetic?"

She chuckled. "I'm afraid they are only getting started, Uncle Gloin..."

He opened his mouth as if to call her off the nickname, but the arrival of their host cut his words before they even left his lips.

Elrond was looking as regal as ever. His long dark hair was plaited and his brow was crowned with mithril. Gandalf, who walked beside him, looked almost small beside the tall Elf, and the two figures strolling behind them both even more so.

Baraz' heart leaped in her throat when she noticed how pale Frodo was, and how he leaned onto Sam. Under his white shirt and brown waist-coat, she could make the lines of a bandage covering his left shoulder.

He did not seem to notice her as Elrond placed him and his companion around the table.

Gandalf sat at Elrond's left, with Bilbo next to him, and Aragorn next to Bilbo. Glorfindel sat on his lord's right, with Frodo and Sam next.

The Dwarves, with the exception of Gloin, sat on the left side, while Arwen and a few other Elves sat on the right. Merry and Pippin were sat on the upper end of the table onto high chairs and on top of several cushions.

When Elrond stood again, no one imitated him. He towered over the party with his height but also the weight of his gaze. He lifted his silver goblet. "I welcome you all to Imladris. It is my pleasure to share with you my home and my food and wine. Please feast on the name of Luthien the Fair, for she was fairest among the fair."

The Elves repeated his last words, while the Dwarves preferred to dedicate the meal to Mahal. Aragorn, on Baraz' right, soon enquired on her silence. "Do you not...thank...for the food you eat?"

She blushed uneasily under his scrutiny. "I do not belong to either race my parents gave me. Therefore, I do not know who to thank."

Aragorn's grey eyes darkened at that, then he gently clinked his goblet against hers. "Then, as people who do not belong, let's thank our Lord Elrond for the food he provides."

She nodded her agreement and took a sip of wine.

* * *

Although he sat not far from her across the table, Frodo did not seem to notice Baraz first. He joined in a conversation with Gloin who looked overly happy to talk about matters of Erebor with someone who did not already know everything.

Aragorn soon started to talk with Bilbo next to him, and with Gimli and Frír talking in Khuzdûl in ushered tones, Baraz was left without a companion to talk to.

Except...

"Baraz?" she raised her head to meet with Arwen's gentle gaze across the table. The Elf-maiden gestured to the Elf next to her. "I do not believe you have met our guests from Greenwood... This is Legolas Thranduilion."

Baraz' blood froze in her veins as her eyes did the same on the Elf's face.

Legolas son of Thranduil. She had heard so many things about him from her mother that she had almost pictured him to be the perfect sight on earth.

And she was not so far from the truth.

While she had always thought he would have inherited his father's silver hair, he had soft brown hair that fell down his back, delicately pointy ears and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky.

He did not seem to realise her flush, for he bowed the head with a small smile. "I knew your mother and dare say I counted her among my friends. I do hope I can do the same with you."

She shook off her contemplation and bowed the head as well. "I do share your hopes."

His neighbour then asked for his attention as they started to speak quickly in Sindarin, too quickly for her to understand the topic.

But Arwen saved her from yet another moment of solitude. "I do hope you are happy to have met old friends here?"

Baraz nodded with a smile that tasted like nostalgia. "It has surely made me understand that I missed the Shire..." Her eyes went to Merry and Pippin who were battling about who would drink his goblet the quickest, and smiled in a very motherly way. "I have missed the Halflings..."

Arwen nodded her understanding and the two of them then started a long conversation about Baraz' life in Erebor: her friends; her work as a healer; her hopes and fears...

* * *

Diner ended as Elrond stood and waited for his daughter to do the same. Then they both guided the party towards a cosy room where a fire cracked. Its purpose clear: a room for talking.

But as she was about to step inside, Baraz was stopped by a small hand on her arm.

She whirled around and met Frodo's clear eyes. A smile formed onto her lips, but before she could speak, he pushed Sam forward. "Do go in, Sam... I'll be in safe hands."

Sam nodded and strolled inside, and a knowing Gandalf closed the door onto the party.

Frodo sighed and it struck Baraz again that he looked sicker, less merry, older than the last time she had seen him so long prior.

"I am sorry if I have not spoken to you earlier, Miss Baraz... I-"

"You do not have to apologize, Frodo..." she smiled softly. "The mere sight of you is enough to make me happy." She paused. "I have missed you..."

He smiled too, and it brought some colour to his cheeks. "And I you, Miss Baraz..."

Then, in a moment of peace and quiet, she knelt before him and brought her arms around his slender frame and into a true hug. He placed his curly head on her shoulder and hugged her back.

The moment lasted, and Baraz realised just how much she had missed he who she had begun to think of as a brother. He had shared her games, her stories, had told her some of his own, had pranked Uncle Bilbo almost every time she asked him to join... They had been good friends for too long not to miss the other's presence...

"I am sorry you have had to suffer through your journey here... Though I do not know the whole story and doubt I ever will...I wished it never happened..."

Frodo untangled himself from her arms and brought his little hand to his shoulder, wincing a little as if he was recalling the pain of the wound. "Yes, this is not the time for such stories... Let's enjoy the moment while we can..." He then took her hand to help her to her feet. "But please, do me the honour of your presence by my side tonight? It has been so long..."

She smiled widely and nodded. "With pleasure, my dear friend..."

* * *

When they joined the party again, the Elves were asking Bilbo for one of his songs. As Baraz understood, he had been singing those every day since he had arrived eighteen years prior, and had yet again written one for the occasion.

So she helped Frodo to sit onto the floor and sat beside him, placing his head onto her shoulder when she noticed how the warmth of the fire and the music some Elves has started to play seemed to lull him to a peaceful sleep.

And she too started to feel the power of such peacefulness as Bilbo's first words echoed in the room...

_Eärendil was a mariner_

_that tarried in Arvernien;_

_he built a boat of timber felled_

_in Nimbrethil to journey in;_

_her sails he wove of silver fair,_

_of silver were her lanterns made,_

_her prow he fashioned like a swan,_

_and light upon her banners laid._


	8. 7, The Council of Elrond

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **The Council of Elrond and Evenstar from the Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**7\. The Council of Elrond**

* * *

_**3018 T.A.**_

* * *

_**October**_

* * *

The following morning, Baraz woke up with the sun. She soon realised she had fallen asleep in her clothes, and hurried to wash and change before she was waited for at the Council.

The previous night, Lord Elrond had indeed sent everyone to bed after Bilbo's song to get a good night's rest, announcing a gathering of great importance early on the following day. And here it was the following day, and Baraz would have felt horrible if she was late to such a thing of importance.

She changed into lighter clothes this time, shedding her riding tunic and slacks aside and instead choosing a light blue linen dress she put a belt around with the usual dagger. She plaited her hair on the side with Fíli's family braids, and threw herself a glance in the mirror. She hated herself in a dress, because she sometimes felt as far from being a woman as could be, but she also felt the usual spike of pleasure when a man looked at her more intently when she passed, her legs almost bare for all to see.

This dress was long and hid her legs to the ankles, while her feet were covered in supple boots, but she still felt as if it was a forbidden thing to do.

And with a sticking tongue to her reflection, Baraz exited her room and hurried down the ivy-covered corridors and towards the dining hall for breakfast.

* * *

When she reached it, only a few guests were there, scattered around the long table at the places they had taken the evening prior.

Merry and Pippin both stood and hurried to her side when she climbed the three stairs leading to the scene, and they pulled her to their end of the table with many a 'We have so many things to tell you, Miss Baraz!', so many in fact that she could not refuse.

So she sent an apologetic smile to Aragorn who was sitting alone on his side of the table, but he merely chuckled and gestured them to proceed. She noticed he seemed lighter than the day prior, and she chose to believe it had something to do with the magic of Rivendell.

Frír, who was the only other guest present, grumbled in his beard as she sat with the Halflings instead of him, but she decided not to pay attention.

"What is it you wanted to tell me, then?" she asked while grabbing a pear and slicing it in pieces.

Merry chuckled as Pippin almost choked on a piece of bread in his hurry to speak up, and took upon him to start whatever story they wanted her to know. "We have met such strange people on our way here!"

"Is that so?" she smirked while exchanging yet another glance with Aragorn who chuckled again. She had been made aware of the fact that he had served as guide to the Hobbits on their way to Imladris.

Merry nodded frantically but Pippin tugged on her sleeve to regain her full attention. "Yes, and we were attacked on Weathertop! By Ringwraiths!"

Aragorn hissed under his breath and when Baraz looked his way, she saw he was staring at Frír in worry, and the Dwarf himself was staring at Pippin in utter curiosity.

Baraz had herself felt her blood freeze in her veins at the mention of 'Ringwraiths', although she did not know what and who they were. She felt as if the name in itself was a cause for fear...

Merry cleared his throat as if trying to regain some gaiety in their story. "Yes yes, all that... But most of all, we have seen Wood-Elves!"

Baraz' brow furrowed. "Wood-Elves? Come on, Merry, surely you cannot feel so surprised now that you have arrived here!"

Pippin laughed out loud and again almost choked on a piece of bread, but Merry turned a bright shade of red. "Yes, no, I mean of course no, Miss Baraz! It's just that...you see...hum..."

"The Elves are leaving Middle-Earth." All eyes turned to Aragorn, who was staring at nothing in particular in front of him. "Many of them are journeying to the Grey Havens as we speak. To take a ship into the West..."

Baraz sighed and finished her breakfast. "Well, this is all very sad. Too sad for me, I dare say... I am going to walk a little, before Lord Elrond summons us all." She glanced down at her two youngest companions. "Do not do anything foolish in my absence! Including food fights!"

She noticed with a satisfied nod that Pippin had the decency to avert his eyes, then she bowed the head at Aragorn and walked away and back towards one of the quietest courtyards in the city.

She needed time to assess what little she had learnt.

Four Hobbits and Aragorn, she guessed, had been attacked by Ringwraiths. And if she did not know what a Ringwraith was, she could guess by their names what they were after. Her Uncle Bilbo's old Ring, who she knew was Frodo's now...

And the Elves were leaving Middle-Earth... And if the thought of it was sad enough, it also was worrying. If the Elves were leaving, it only meant one thing: things were really as bad as she had feared. Worse perhaps: as bad as her mother had feared...

* * *

Her feet brought her to one of the most beautiful places in Rivendell: a courtyard opening onto an endless field, the river flowing at the end of it, a sea of soft grass and flowers before your eyes as far as you could see. She sat on a stone bench and folded her hands onto her lap, her thoughts going to her mother and to her riddles.

Ariana had once told her that she had thought for a long time before she agreed to return to Middle-Earth from her strange land. When Baraz had enquired on her reasons, she had told her that dark times were ahead and that she did not wish her child to live those times.

She could remember the sheer fear in her otherwise fearless mother's gaze as she spoke those words, and the shiver than ran up her spine at the sight. Ariana had been swift in trying to lift the mood, but her words had stuck.

And then, there had been that time, so long before, when she burnt the red-leathered book. She had not understood the implications of such a gesture, because she knew her mother loved her books dearly, but now, she was beginning to understand.

More than to prevent her from knowing things that had yet to pass, she had not wanted her to fright at the thought of these 'dark times'. She wanted her daughter to remain as carefree as she could be.

Except she had stopped to be carefree the day she had agreed to betroth herself to Fíli.

* * *

"Miss Baraz?"

The sound of a soft voice she had not heard a lot made her jump a little. She then realised the light was shadowed by a tall figure, his hands folded in his back, his long brown hair flowing in the quiet breeze. She tried a small smile and bowed the head. "Legolas. Greetings."

He smiled back. "Do you mind if I sat with you for a moment? I am in dire need of company." She nodded and he sat beside her on the bench, his frame hiding hers with his height.

She felt so small compared to all these Elves...

"Can I enquire on why you are here so early?"

She looked at her companion and noticed how it felt natural and easy to be in his presence although she had only officially met him the night prior. No doubt it'd make you feel this way when meeting an old friend of your mother's...or so she thought.

She sighed a little and gazed back onto the scenery before her eyes. "I must admit that I am worried about why we have been called here. Although I am extremely happy to have met some old friends – the Hobbits, of course – I cannot help but wonder, and wondering without knowing makes me restless..."

He nodded gravely. "I believe we will all know for sure why we have been called upon once Lord Elrond summons us. It would not be long now."

She nodded again, then tried a glance at him. "Who did you come here with?"

"No one your mother would have known," he chuckled knowingly, "Tauriel is...well...she does not like to leave Greenwood too often."

Baraz nodded. "I understand. But I would have appreciated to see her once more, for I cannot know when I will have the opportunity again."

He looked down at her, his fair eyes widened in curiosity. "You know Tauriel personally?"

She nodded with a smirk. "When I was younger, I would often sneak off our camp within the forest and leave my father alone in the dead of night to explore. Once I fell onto Tauriel who was watching, I believe. And after that night, I would meet her regularly on my visits to or from the Lonely Mountain. She is a very good friend."

Legolas nodded. "She is." He then looked up as if startled by something. "Another visitor has arrived, it seems." He looked at her and outstretched a hand. "Would you come and see who it is with me?"

Baraz stood and took his hand gratefully, smiling widely. "I would, thank you."

He too stood and both walked calmly towards the main courtyard, the Elf slowing his pace to help her follow.

When they reached the courtyard, Glorfindel was already welcoming the newest addition to the guest-party. It was a Man, to Baraz' surprise. He was tall, with broad shoulders, long dark-brown hair and grey eyes – it seemed most people she met had grey eyes as stormy as a winter sky. He sported a beard and his piercing gaze was darting to each corner of the city as if he was expecting a foe to erupt from a balcony and take aim with his bow.

He was wearing a dark-silver armour and an ivory horn hung at his belt. On his chest, Baraz could see the outlines of a tree.

Legolas sighed. "So this is the emissary from Gondor."

"Gondor?" Baraz' brow furrowed. She did not remember seeing the sign of this tree in the drawings her mother had shown her of the Men of Gondor...but then, she could have been mistaken.

Legolas nodded while pulling her towards a empty hall to leave the new guest settle down. "His sigil is the White Tree of Gondor, the symbol of Minas Tirith." His brow furrowed too. "Their Steward is not the wisest of men... We will probably have to be careful of his...ill words."

Baraz shook her head in fake amusement. "You are far too cynical, Legolas. I am certain this Man will be equally as wise as each of us. And I should know, for I am not really wise."

Legolas did not answer.

A bell chimed not a moment later, and Legolas stopped in his tracks, his arm leaving Baraz'. "I am sorry, but I have to retrieve my people before heading to the Council." He bowed the head. "It was very nice spending time with you, _Pernogoth_."

The nickname no longer bothered her, since she had learnt, long prior, what it meant. So she smiled and parted her own way. "Likewise, Legolas Thranduilion."

She found Gloin, Gimli and Frír in the dining hall. Gimli seemed very displeased to leave his breakfast behind, although he had spent a good time the night before complaining about the lack of meat in the Elves' menu.

He hurried to Baraz' side and offered her his arm. After spending so long a moment in Legolas' company, she almost felt guilty. But as she took Gimli's arm, she also felt extremely uneasy. So this was it then... They'd finally learn the real meaning of this...meeting.

* * *

Lord Elrond and most his guests were waiting in a beautiful open courtyard with a flowery ceiling that let sunlight in. Elrond stood before a high chair, Glorfindel by his side, as others arrived.

Frodo was already there, sitting next to Gandalf. The other three Hobbits were nowhere to be seen, but Baraz would have been damned if they had not found a way to spy on the meeting. Next to Gandalf sat Legolas and his two silvan companions. Then next again were four chairs, no doubt for the Dwarves who walked to them, Frír's nose upturned as he realised his direct neighbour. He glanced at Baraz and offered her the chair closest to the Elves, and she rolled her eyes before sitting down. Next to the Dwarves came the Man who had arrived earlier, his grey eyes dancing around the company. And finally, next to him, sat Aragorn, who had shed his grey coat and stood in a leather-bound tunic of a dark-purple shade.

As she sat, Baraz once again realised she was the only female present, for even Arwen had not been invited, it seemed. The unknown Man stared at her for a moment before she caught his gaze and he averted his eyes to their host.

Elrond chose that moment to stand, and while Baraz knew everyone present, she guessed some had not had the chance to meet every guest as properly as could be, for he started by introducing every party present.

He first pointed at Frodo, who sat alone and blushing, his little frame so thin and weak no one could possibly guess why he was there at all. Baraz also noticed he was touching his left shoulder from time to time as if sporting an itch. "Welcome, my friends. He is the Hobbit, Frodo, son of Drogo. Few have come here through greater peril or on an errand more urgent." A lot nodded. Apparently, Frodo was one of the few to be known of almost everyone. "Next to him is the wizard Gandalf the Grey, one of the Istarì." Gandalf was obviously known to all. "Legolas Thranduilion and his two companions come from Greenwood, the Elven realm in the East, and next to them are the Dwarves from Erebor. Gloin, his son Gimli and general Frír are accompanied by Miss Baraz, whose mother most of us knew once, Miss Ariana." There was a general nod within the Elves, even Legolas' companions, and Frodo, Gandalf and Aragorn. In fact, the only one who had not known Ariana was the Man who was presented next. "Here is Boromir from the South. He arrived this grey morning and seeks for counsel. I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered." Many bowed the head in greeting and the named Boromir bowed the head back.

Baraz then realised Elrond had not, and did not seem to wish to introduce Aragorn. The Man sat there quietly, as if everyone present knew who he was. But, as his curious gaze soon proved, Boromir did not.

For a long period of time, the Council talked of matters that happened in every realm. Baraz then had confirmation that Boromir indeed dwelt from the White City of Minas Tirith in the South, and that his father the Steward Denethor had sent him to Lord Elrond after he had seen something 'in the omens'. Lord Elrond and Gandalf's brows furrowed at those words, but they did not say more.

Legolas confirmed that Greenwood had once again started to become the forest that people had called Mirkwood once upon a time, and that the great fortress of Dol Guldur was once again alive and buzzing with unwanted life. He said that the great Beorn, the changeling, had died several years prior and that his sons, the Beornings, were the only ones to be safe from such a new threat.

Then there was the tale of Gloin. He chose to tell the Council of the retaking of Moria almost thirty years prior, and how Balin, Ori and Oin had been lost on them after they managed to enter Khazad-dûm again. But it was his next words that managed to make her blood freeze in her veins, for she had ignored such a thing had happened.

"About a year ago a messenger came to our King Dain, but not from Moria – from Mordor." There was a general gasp, and everyone tensed. "'The Lord Sauron the Great', he said, 'wishes for your friendship.' He said he would give us Rings of power for it, but mostly, he asked about _Hobbits_, what and where they were, because he knew one had once been known to us." Baraz' grip on the arms of her chair became painful, her knuckles deadly white, and she realised Frodo and Aragorn were staring at her.

No, Bilbo had not been the one to take part in the Quest. But her mother had told her of a tale, of riddles in the dark of the Misty Mountains. Of how she had introduced herself as 'Ari Baggins of the Shire'. Why she had said such things, Ariana never said. But now Baraz understood the whole implications of her words. She exchanged a glance with Aragorn who seemed to understand her thoughts and nodded quietly as Gloin continued his tale.

"The messenger offered us invaluable gifts if we told the Lord Sauron of this thief's whereabouts, and threatened Dain of dark times ahead if he refused. Dain dismissed it by saying he'd talk about it with his counsellors, and the messenger left. It left us all very weary, for we did not know much about what the hobbit had apparently stolen, but Sauron had offered us great gifts, one of which was the retaking of Moria for indefinite times." He paused, his gaze darkening. "Twice the messenger has come back for an answer, and twice he left unanswered. His third – and last, so he says – visit will be soon in the end of the year, and we came here also to seek counsel, for we do not know what to do and why Sauron seeks a Hobbit – one we know had nothing to do with the Quest at all. We also know that messengers went to King Brand of Dale, and we fear he might yield."

Elrond nodded gravely. "You have done well to come then. For our meeting has everything to do with this...messenger seeking Bilbo Baggins."

Some guests exchanged confused glances. Others stared at Baraz who felt like disappearing in her chair. Glorfindel was the only one to smile at her, and this small smile gave her the strength to survive what was to come.

"I am sorry to ask, Lord Elrond, but why should the Dark Lord Sauron seek Bilbo Baggins?" Legolas asked, his brown brows lifted in confusion. "He has not accomplished the Quest, as our Master Dwarf said earlier."

Elrond nodded and glanced at Baraz. "Would you care to enlighten our guests, Miss Baraz? After all, you and Mister Frodo here are the only ones to know the tale."

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, her temples beginning to throb faintly. "My mother... Ariana..." she opened her eyes again to find all eyes on her. "She accomplished the Quest in place of Frodo's uncle, Bilbo. She was a daughter of Men but her size helped her pass for a Hobbit when needed. She knew not many among the foes she encountered knew what a Hobbit was and believed it safer to claim she was one. Among those foes was...a Ring-bearer."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, the creature named Gollum." To Baraz' surprise, Legolas and Aragorn nodded. "We have apprehended him and we know he has been tortured by the Enemy into telling what he knew of the Ring of power."

Baraz felt her blood freeze again in dread. "Well then, he must have said his beloved Ring had gone to my mother, for she found it in the goblin caves of the Misty Mountains." There was a general gasp again. "But she did not keep it. When the Quest was over, she and my father left Erebor with the distinct wish never to come back. They met with Bilbo Baggins one last time, or so they thought, and she gave him the tokens she had acquired: the Ring, and her elven sword, Sting."

She saw Frodo's blue eyes widening. Had he never heard that part of the tale? But he knew his uncle had not been the one to help on the Quest, didn't he?

She ended her own tale. "My parents left Middle-Earth for three years, after which they decided to return. My mother was pregnant and gave birth to me a few months later. They settled in the Shire, but she never asked the Ring or Sting back to Bilbo."

"And now, the One Ring has come to Bilbo's heir..." Elrond looked at Frodo who was soon the object of all attentions. He gulped noisily, then stood, his thin fingers going to a pocket in his waistcoat. He walked to the plinth in the middle of the hall, and placed upon it a heavy-looking golden ring.

Baraz felt all colour leaving her face. This ring made her very uneasy. There was something about it that made her heart race and the hair on the back of her neck rise.

* * *

Elrond stood then, turning around to face away from the company, his long fingers entwined before him. "It is time, I believe, to tell each of you the tale of the One Ring. For if many know how it began, only a few know how it came to us..."

He started a tale that Baraz knew a few about, for her mother had been keen to tell her of the great days of the Second Age when the Rings of power were forged in Eregion. Instinctively, she passed a hand over her chest and felt the familiar bump of her mother's ring under her dress. Ariana had told her never to speak of its sister, the real Nenya, for it was in the possession of the Lady Galadriel, and her copy was but a trinket she kept in memory of this great lady of Elves who had once given her her friendship.

Elrond spoke of the Battle of Dagorlad and the believed fall of Sauron by the end of Isildur of Gondor. When he spoke of how he remembered these days well, Frodo enquired on his age, and Elrond told him he was the direct descendant of Luthien and Doriath, one of the few Half-Elves to remain. Baraz, of course, knew this, for Luthien's tale was one of her favourites. But to hear how Elrond remembered the fall of Gil-galad, his sire, in the Battle of Dagorlad, was still disturbing. For Baraz could almost count the deaths in Elrond's voice. So many had fallen and so few had survived...

Then Elrond told of Isildur's Bane, how the King of Gondor had taken the Ring for himself and refused to destroy it to end the bad in the world. Boromir listened to this intently, for he said he had never heard that part of the story, but Baraz kept her eyes locked onto Aragorn's frame. He was sitting tense on his chair, his hands two fists on his lap, and his eyes almost closed as if he was trying not to listen to something painful. She wondered why he looked to...pained by this part of the tale, but promised herself to enquire on this later.

By then Boromir too stood and talked about Minas Tirith with such passion that his gaze was ablaze. In his words, many understood he meant for the Ring to go to his father the Steward, in hope that it would help Men fight the impending war against the forces of Sauron.

Aragorn then stood too. "The Ring will not go to Gondor!"

Boromir looked at him, trying to stand taller, but Aragorn was of taller stature and was so naturally charismatic that it was to no avail. "And what right do you have over my land, Ranger?"

Elrond huffed. "He is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descendant of Isildur Elendil's son. He is the Chief of the Dunedain in the North, and he is your rightful King."

Boromir huffed too. "Minas Tirith does not have a King, and certainly not a Dunedain at that."

But Frodo had stood as well, but he was so small none had noticed until he spoke up, his blue eyes going to Aragorn before him. "Then the Ring has to go to you!"

Aragorn shook his head. "It does not belong to any of us. It has to be destroyed, and that's the end of it." He glared at Boromir as he said those last words, and the Man sat back down in his chair.

Glorfindel, who had remained silent since the very beginning, cleared his throat softly, and all turned their eyes to him. He then started to chant what seemed like a prophecy to Baraz' ears:

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renowed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._

A silence followed these words, but it had the power to cease Boromir's harsh words.

Elrond turned back to his guests. "Time has come to take a decision. The Ring has to be destroyed, but the only place it can be so is in the depths of Orodruin, Mount Doom in the land of Mordor."

There was a long silence during which many seemed to ponder his words, then a small silhouette stood back up. "Then I shall bring the Ring to the Mountain."

All eyes went to Frodo, and all eyes widened at the determination in his gaze. Such a bravery was not often seen in a Hobbit, or so they thought.

Gandalf stood too and placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Then I shall go with you."

"And I." Aragorn walked to Frodo and bowed his head to him. "You shall have my sword."

"And my bow!" Legolas stood and went behind the Hobbit. His companions nodded their agreement.

Among the Dwarves, there was a certain doubt, before Gimli cursed in his beard and stood as well. "And my axe!" Verily, it was his father's, but his offer was genuine.

Boromir stood as well, albeit uneasy. "If you will have me, I shall too assist you in your dangerous deed."

No one stood again and Elrond prepared himself to announced the company, but then there was a ruffle and a sandy-blonde head appeared from behind the railing. "Master Frodo will not leave without me!"

Sam took a place next to his master and crossed his arms. Elrond chuckled. "No indeed, for there is no separating you, even when he is invited to a meeting and you are not!"

Then there was another ruffle and two other figures emerged from the other side of the hall from behind a shrubbery. Merry and Pippin took their places beside Frodo and too crossed their arms. "We are going as well!" Merry's tone was trying to make sure to be obeyed, and Baraz, although she could have laughed, felt her blood run colder in her veins upon seeing those young – too young – Hobbits ready to embark on the most dangerous of adventure.

So she could not help herself when she stood as well. "Where these two are going, there shall I go. For I fear they will need protection." She took a place next to Gimli who was shaking his head.

But none addressed her sex or young age or possible lack of experience in the lore of war when she asked to be part of this.

Instead, Elrond nodded and smiled. "Then you shall be the ten members of the Fellowship of the Ring!"

And something heavy downed on Baraz' shoulders. As if she had just signed up for her death...

* * *

_A/N: I wanted to address the end of this chapter. It might appear as though I've chosen to write one of those numerous fanfics where the OC joins the Fellowship. Baraz is joining at first...but she will not stay. You'll see, but don't cringe, and understand her motives. For now, she wants to make sure Merry and especially Pippin - who she thinks of as a younger brother, if not a son - are safe._


	9. 8, The Fellowship of the Ring

_A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I wish all of you all the best for 2015 and I also want to thank all those who have recently put alerts/favourites on this story and its sister, and to all those who have left me a little note of love. It really is appreciated._

_I must admit I'm getting late on this story. I'm stuck on chapter 14 and really have to work hard not to get behind schedule. So I'm going to stop doing anything else than writing for a few days, and hopefully, finish the FOTR plot before the end of the month. :)_

_Anyway, for now, get once again acquainted with Baraz and her struggles to fit in a company of men._

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Evenstar from the Fellowship of the Ring OST; Elven nightfall and Elven morning light from the Battle for Middle-Earth 2 OST._

* * *

**8\. The Fellowship of the Ring**

* * *

_**3018 T.A.**_

* * *

_**December**_

* * *

Time passed and the Fellowship did not leave Rivendell. Baraz did not know what Gandalf and Elrond were waiting for, but she guessed there was quite the reason for their delaying their difficult journey.

After she had volunteered to accompany this company of males, some had tried to make her change her mind, although they had remained silent at first. Aragorn was the first to address her weaker state as impeding their advance. She glared at him openly and told him that her dwarven blood made her faster than most Men and that her human blood made her lighter and stealthier than most Dwarves. He had rolled his eyes but from them on, accepted her coming.

The four Hobbits in particular were happy of her presence among them, even if Baraz suspected Frodo to only smile in her presence for pretence. He was looking wearier by the day, his fingers often going to his shoulder or to his neck, around which hung a chain and the Ring. She often saw him breathe heavily as if something was choking him. But no one else seemed to address this so she remained silent, her questions unanswered.

The first to truly address her coming in that dangerous endeavour was Boromir.

* * *

It was a day in early December, she remembered because it was near her mother's birthday. She was reading on a bench near the waterfall when a tall figure hid the white sun from her eyes. She glanced up to see the Man, his face set gravely, his hands folded behind him.

"Greetings, Boromir."

He bowed the head slightly. "Good morrow, Baraz. Can I speak with you for a moment?"

She nodded and moved a bit to the left so he sat beside her on the bench. He was shorter in stature than Aragorn, but he was still towering over her. Somehow, despite his grumpy attitude most of the time and his somewhat impressive look, Boromir was one of the people she spent the most time with. His conversations were always interesting. He was a soldier, but also a Man of culture, which reminded Baraz of King Brand back home.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I do not know how to start..." He gazed at the water falling some feet before them in utter silence. "I wonder if your coming with us is a good idea..."

She sighed. "If you mean by that that my being a woman can be a weakness in our company, I am tired to tell everyone that I can fend for myself. I have spent my younger years on the road, from the Shire to Erebor. I have met goblins, trolls, giant spiders... I can assure you that I am not helpless."

Boromir had a small smile. "No, I daren't discuss your abilities... I only meant... I do not really know what your mother's history is, but... You may be searched for." She glanced at him curiously. "If your mother had the Ring and the Enemy does not know it has passed to Master Frodo, He might think you have it."

"Oh." She closed her book. She had not thought about that. Maybe it was one of the reasons why her mother had asked her not to follow Frodo during whatever might happen...

"Yes, I... I must say I do not wish for us to be followed by the Nine everywhere we go..."

She shuddered. She had learnt who were the Nine and what had happened to Frodo on Weathertop some time before now, but the simple thought of the Ringwraiths was still enough to make a chill run up her spine. "No, I guess you do not..." She sighed again. "I just do not wish the youngest Hobbits to be without protection." She raised a hand when Boromir tried to counter her words. "No, do not discuss... I know that our mission is to bring Frodo – and Frodo alone – to Mount Doom. Sam, Merry and Pippin are only empty bags on your backs. I volunteered to protect them while you all protect Frodo. That's my mission." She paused, a sad smile appearing on her lips. "I have seen them grow up... Some I have seen come into this life... I do not wish to see them die. At least not like that."

Boromir's grey eyes widened. "How old can you be?!"

She chuckled darkly. "Older than you, my dear Boromir. Although my looks can be deceiving, I am near 73 years-old."

"Impossible!"

Another chuckle. "Alas, my mixed blood makes it possible. And although I age quicker than Dwarves, I will die far older than any Man..."

Boromir stared at her for a moment. "Then you have lived many things. Seen Kings fall..."

"I have seen my share of lives ending, yes. But I would prefer not to discuss this, if you don't mind. My heart is not ready for a talk like this one."

He nodded and stood quickly. "Well...concerning your mission... I promise I will do my best to protect our youngest companions. To help in your endeavour."

She nodded with a smile. "Thank you, Boromir."

He nodded back and walked back towards the city. Baraz felt a tear fall on her cheek and wiped it away before opening her book again and trying to forget the feelings such a simple talk had stirred inside of her...

* * *

When she decided to move back inside, the sun had already begun to set, although the afternoon was not yet over. Baraz grabbed her book and stood from the bench, a strange feeling taking place in her gut as she moved back through the halls and paths and bridges of the magnificent elven city.

Laughter made its way to her ears and she guessed the four young Hobbits surely had, once again, settled in a hall to tell stories and jokes and drink on the light wine of the Elves. But she did not head to them.

She wanted some time alone after the conversation she had just had with Boromir. If Sauron believed she had the Ring and not Frodo, then perhaps her family back in Erebor was in as much danger as she. And she did not want to dwell on these thoughts on the eve of a much more dangerous mission.

Movement shook her off her thoughts as she crossed an empty and dark hall. It was hidden away in the mountain behind the city, offering a place of quiet and cool for warm days. Two figures stood hidden away in the shadows, but their tall figures held little to imagination.

Aragorn, his long greying hair still a mess even after such a long time in the same place, stood in front of Arwen, who had both her hands around one of his, their eyes gazing deep into each other's. Baraz suddenly felt as if she was prying on something intimate, and she looked away, her cheeks reddening a bit in shame as she hurried away as silently as she could.

She had known, of course, that the Man's thoughts were often about a mysterious woman, but she would never have believed it had been the fair elven lady. For even if there surely was much more to Aragorn that met the eye – he was, after all, Isildur's heir and one of the last Men of Numenór's bloodline – such a love felt forbidden.

* * *

Her feet brought her to her room, even if she didn't have time to reach it. She heard heavy feet behind her and an angry curse under one's beard, and she turned around quickly enough to see Gimli appear around the corner, apparently running her way.

"Gimli? What has you in such a hurry?"

He stopped in front of her, his running apparently having no effect on him. He handed her a yellowish envelope. "This arrived an hour ago by bird. For you."

She took the paper and her heart leaped in her throat as she recognized her father's writing. She bowed at Gimli. "Thank you." And she turned away from him, entering her room to read the news.

* * *

'_Dear Baraz,_

_Glóin and Frír arrived the day before yesterday, alone. I must say that, while I expected you to miss the Shire and to maybe wish to go there for a while, I did not expect to learn that you had decided to take part in a...dangerous...enterprise._

_I am disappointed to realise that you hold Hobbits dearer than your own kin. But then again, it's your mother's blood running in your veins._

_Disappointed I am, but also worried. You may be of dwarven blood, and may know how to wield that bow of yours, but you remain a youngling, and a woman, and for those reasons, I plead you to remain in Rivendell until it is safe for you to come back to me again. Do not leave with that so-called Fellowship. I beg of you. Stay. And stay alive._

_I cannot forbid Gimli to leave, for his father is content with his son's courage, but you, my daughter, I do forbid to leave the Elves. Stay safe. For me, but more so, for your mother. She foresaw this happening and made you promise. Remember that promise._

_I cannot, however, ask you to come back to Erebor, for war is brewing in these parts also. Daïn's dismissal of the Enemy's emissary provoked events of such a nature that I had not seen in a long time. Thranduil the Elvenking has once again sent a part of his army to help King Brand, and us, even if we do not need the Elves' help. Some Orcs are coming from the old fortress in the forest, and it is said even the Beornlings are running away._

_I will now leave what is left of the parchment to your fiancé Fìli. I plead you once again to see sense. And please stay in Rivendell._

_With love,_

_Your father,_

_Bofur'_

* * *

_'Baraz,_

_I won't say the same as your father, whatever he may think. I'll send this as soon as I'm done so he'll never know what I wrote you._

_I am certain that you have some part to play in this war to come. Whatever your father or mine may think, you are strong, and you know so many things. You can speak elvish, you know the Halflings, you are of Men's blood. Do take part. Fight. For us. For everyone that you once held dear._

_And do not worry about us. War it may be, but one of those we'll win. I will keep your father safe._

_You stay safe however. I trust Gimli will do what he can to protect you, but there will be times when you have to watch after yourself. Use that bow of yours. And ask one of your companions to teach you the way of the long sword. Your mother was a Daughter of Men. They are sword-wielders._

_Don't come back. Not until we find you and tell you the coast is clear._

_I love you._

_Stay safe._

_Fíli_'

* * *

Baraz did not realise she was trembling until the letter fell from her hands, crumbled at the corners. So war was coming to Erebor as well. Her family was in danger. And she was going to protect Hobbits? What was she thinking? What had she done?

In a crazy moment, her eyes fell to her bag beside the door, and she wished to grab it and leave and go back to her father and friends and her Mountain.

But then she fell on her bed and her hands went to her eyes as she realised she was weeping.

"Miss Baraz?"

She had not realised her door was still open when she had started to read her letter, and now, Legolas was standing in the doorway, his hand held up as if he had meant to knock, and his fair eyes were locked onto her by then puffy and red face.

She sniffed noisily. "I am sorry, I-I had bad news."

"Oh." He paused. "I can come back later if you wish."

"No-no, please, do come in. I need distraction."

He nodded and entered the room, his eyes falling on the crumbled letter on the floor. He picked it up but did not read a word, instead putting it beside Baraz on the bed.

It struck her how gentle he was. How respectful of the fact that, if she did not wish to tell him what she had learnt, he would not pry it off her.

It made her resolve to tell him stronger.

"I received a letter from my father."

Legolas nodded knowingly. "Ah. And I suppose that he, as many among us, has tried to convince you to not come." She nodded, but his brow furrowed. "But it is not what has you in such a state."

"No, it is not." She paused and wiped new tears away. "War is coming to Erebor. Your father has already sent troops to New Dale."

Legolas sighed. "Yes, I was made aware of that fact too." He paced towards the balcony, thoughts elsewhere. "We would wish to go to our loved ones and protect them from the foes to come. But we cannot. And will not."

"So you understand my predicament?"

He turned to her again. "Everyone here, I believe, understands your predicament. You and I have family in the East, is it Greenwood or Erebor, as has Gimli. Aragorn is tied to both Rohan and Minas Tirith, from which Boromir comes. And Gandalf is an Istár, bound to protect all things that live." His gaze darkened, as if turning even more serious. "But the task we have been relied on is even more important than saving our families and friends. What we have to do will save _everyone_. Isn't that a good reason enough?"

Baraz pondered his words and realised she had stopped crying. Then she stood, leaving the letter on her bed, and gestured to the door. "Shall we join the others for diner then?"

Legolas smiled down at her and offered his arm. "We shall. That was what I had come here for."

She smiled back, her heart lighter than what it had been a few moments earlier.

* * *

Diner passed in relative quietness that evening. Merry and Pippin, for once, remained calm and composed, despite Pippin seemingly having lots to tell his friend in ushered tones, his eyes sometimes going to Baraz across the table.

Aragorn, sitting as usual on her right, soon enquired on her silence. "Are you quite alright, Miss Baraz? You are rather quiet tonight."

She met his grey eyes with a small smile and glanced ever so slightly in Legolas' direction. "I've had bad news from the Lonely Mountain. It has me wonder if I made the right choice staying."

He nodded in understanding. "Well, if you need any more convincing, I will say this: war is brewing in every corner of Middle-Earth. One day or another, it would have reached the halls of your forefathers. I should not worry more than what is considered normal for an enterprise as ours."

"Which means a lot."

He had a small smile. "Which means a lot." He then directed his gaze to Lord Elrond, who had pronounced his name.

Baraz did as her new friend and glanced at her host. He was talking with Gandalf but met the other guests' curious glances, meaning he did not mind their listening. "I was speaking with Aragorn about it yesterday. I think you should leave near Yule."

"At the end of the month?" Gandalf' brow furrowed. "So close to the heart of winter?"

"The Enemy will not guess your leaving at this time of the season. I expect he would not send the Ringwraiths behind you again...before the melting of the snow. Unless..." he glanced for a second at Frodo who flinched under the Elf's stare, his hand grazing his shirt near the neckline.

"Nothing will happen." Gandalf paused, seemingly pondering his friend's proposal. "Yes, I do believe you are right. We will pack heavy cloaks and boots and leave near Yule. It leaves us with another week in your company. If you do not mind."

Elrond shook his regal head with a smile. "If I had my say in the matter, you would be welcome indefinitely. Alas...such luxury is not meant for us at this time..."

* * *

Baraz had to move her attention from her host when a small hand tugged at her sleeve. She glanced to her left, where Bilbo now sat, and her gaze turned from worried to affectionate as she smiled down at her uncle.

The elven air did wonders to his feeble health, and while his hair was definitely white and thinning, his eyes kept the mischievous glint of his younger years.

"Poppy, I meant to ask you..." he leaned in, and she had to steep so she was levelled with him – he had grown smaller with age, "how is your engagement to young Fíli doing?"

She felt another weight of lead fall in her stomach, but for another reason entirely than that which had plagued her all day. She sighed and put her fork back in her plate, decidedly not hungry anymore. "As well as such things can be expected... I do not wear a ring, but wear his family's plaits. I do not believe anyone around this table knows of it apart from Gimli."

"Oh, Frodo knows, I sent him a letter when I received yours." He had said it on the tone of conversation, but it still froze her blood in her veins. She glanced at Frodo for a second, but nothing in his stance or even the way he had addressed her for weeks by then could give it away that he knew her secret.

"Can I ask that you do not tell anymore people, Uncle?"

He met her eyes with curiosity. "You do not want it known?"

"Not if it should end as we planned, no." She took a sip of her wine, and excused herself from the table.

* * *

Her feet brought her to the courtyard she had arrived by, her blue eyes gazing onto the Misty Mountains beyond and the mountain-tops covered in thick snow.

Unconsciously, she began to rub her arms as if she was cold.

She did not have to wait until a soft cloak of fur was put on her shoulders.

She did not need to glance aside either to guess it was Arwen who had followed her.

But thankfully, her friend remained silent, a mere presence at her side.

And a welcome one...

* * *

_A/N2: Next chapter, the Fellowship sets off and Baraz accompanies them, for a little while forgetting about war in the East. But as I said before, she will not stay until the end. The purpose of this story, after all, is to also study some unseen scenes from the Appendices. :)_


	10. 9, Caradhras

_A/N: I'm back! And I would like to thank all those who put alerts on this or Rhenio mì Ennor (its sister-piece) and/or who reviewed. It really is very much appreciated. I've just finished writing the plot for Fellowship of the Ring (a loooot of feels) and will shortly be starting Two Towers. But you, my dear readers, will still have a couple of chapters to live through until setting eyes on it._

_For the time being, enjoy the cold freezing air of Caradhras!_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Edge of night (by Billy Boyd) from The Return of the King OST; The Pass of Caradhras from The Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**9\. Caradhras**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**January**_

* * *

Time came when the Fellowship of the Ring had to set out of Rivendell, perhaps for good. Baraz would remember that day until the end of her life. She committed everything to memory: the soft sound of the waterfall outside her room, the softness of her beddings, the light of the sun as she stepped out into the day, the smiles of Arwen and Elrond as they bid them farewell, the hand of Glorfindel on her shoulder as he whispered parting words as she passed. '_Vanya sulie_', he had said. It meant 'Fair winds' and few other phrases in Elvish were as kind and wishing well as that.

But there was one person amidst all those she had met in Rivendell that she wanted to say goodbye to for longer moments than a mere waving of hand and sharing of words.

She separated from her companions and walked to the balcony on which stood her uncle. Frodo, who had just left him, crossed her path and smiled at her with a small nostalgic smile that reminded her that this could verily be the last time she ever saw the elder hobbit who had practically raised her into this world.

"Poppy!" he had greeted her warmly. "I did not think you would come and say goodbye to my old self." He had chuckled and taken her hands in his. "Do not fret, child. This is a good adventure for you. One like your mother's so long ago. You took your chance while I could not. Enjoy the moment. Make friends. Even more if you can. Laugh, sing, eat, drink and dance! There are no more important matters in this world!"

She could not utter a word as she clung to his frail figure. But he did not seem to realise the gravity of their so-called adventure, for he waved her away and walked back to the railing on which he leaned, a song erupting from his lips as Baraz left him, her eyes staring at his form until she could not see him anymore.

And even then, a few days later, as she was walking in the shadow of the Misty Mountains in the cold and the wind, she could still hear his song:

_I sit beside the fire and think_

_of all that I have seen,_

_of meadow-flowers and butterflies_

_in summers that have been;_

_Of yellow leaves and gossamer_

_in autumns that there were,_

_with morning mist and silver sun_

_and wind upon my hair._

_I sit beside the fire and think_

_of how the world will be_

_when winter comes without a spring_

_that I shall ever see._

* * *

Baraz had seldom walked this South of the valley, and to her, it seemed like the days were invariably the same. They walked for endless hours in plains of creaking frozen grass and the freezing winds of the Mountains, rested for a few hours in the middle of the day, and set out again to walk through the night. She could not see an end to this journey, and soon, she began to wonder again if she had made the right choice in going at all.

During the night, Aragorn and Gandalf walked in front of the rest, for the Ranger new these parts well. Then came the Hobbits and Boromir, and Baraz behind him. Gimli and Legolas were behind all, for the Elf's eyes were the keenest among the company, and Gimli didn't like to rely on him to protect his rear.

Boromir was kind to Baraz. His tall and broad figure protected her somehow from the iciest of winds, and ever so often he would glance over his shoulder to make sure she did not need assistance. But in truth, if that journey felt endless and without hope, she had seen worse days in Greenwood, even if the cold seemed now a worse enemy than the giant spiders of the elven forest.

For days and days they walked, and after a while, December had become January, and its early days had become its ten days. Nothing changed: not the weather; not the sights. Baraz grew weary of it, and soon, every of her companions felt the same.

But then, at last, a clear day arose, and as they had been on the road all night, they saw the sun rise in the East, a pale white colour in a white sky, but its sight warmed hearts and made weariness leave the companions.

* * *

Gandalf and Frodo stood still, gazing upon the Misty Mountains in the horizon. There they bent south-west, and they'd have to cross them at last.

Gimli and Baraz walked to their two companions, and soon, the Dwarf had happy tears in his eyes. "We have come to the land of my forefathers."

"And mine..." added Baraz. She knew, of course, that they were close to the mines of Moria, the promised land Balin had once set out for, but the thought, unlike Gimli, did not bring happy tears to her eyes. Instead, she felt dread sit low in her stomach.

"These are the pikes all Dwarf know about. All three of them. _Baraz_, _Zirak_, and _Shathûr_."

Baraz nodded absent-mindedly, until a small voice behind her shook her off her glum thoughts.

"One of the mountains is called like you?"

She turned her head to meet Sam's eyes, and behind him, Boromir and Legolas, both curious as well. Only Aragorn seemed detached from the fact.

She nodded. "_Baraz_ means 'red' in the language of my fathers. This pike is the Red-horn, also called Caradhras. _Barazinbar._"

Gandalf nodded. "We are making for it. The pass there is easy enough to cross, and beyond lies the Dimrill Dale, the eastern gate of Moria. From then on, we will follow the river Silverlode."

Baraz nodded. "The farthest we pass from the mines, the better."

Gimli huffed. "We could easily cross the mountains from beneath it! My cousin Balin would welcome us like kings!"

Gandalf and Baraz shared a meaningful glance, and the wizard ushered the company forward. "Let's go. Many miles lie ahead still, and I wish to have crossed the Mountains before snow melts."

* * *

"You don't seem very happy to be close to your people's land..."

Baraz slowed her pace to reach Aragorn, who had been the one to voice the question aloud. She glanced at Gimli, who was by then engrossed in talk with Gandalf ahead, and sighed. "I am not."

"May I enquire on the reason?" He sent her a small smile, and she smiled back, knowing he was genuinely asking her permission to pry on her thoughts rather than doing it, period.

She nodded. "You may." She paused and they both left Legolas pass them so they were closing the line, just to make sure they were not overheard – although Baraz doubted anything could pass unnoticed by the Elf's ears. "Some time ago now, three of my mother's companions, and a few others, travelled to Moria to reclaim it. And no one has heard anything from them since..."

"The Balin Gimli was talking about?" Aragorn's brow furrowed.

Baraz nodded. "Balin was Thorin Oakenshield's counsellor and best friend. As first cousin of the previous and new King under the Mountain, he would have been appointed Lord of Moria without a struggle. He took with him Oin, the Company's healer and friend of my mother's – and Gimli's uncle - and Ori, the scholar who, at the time, was the youngest among the Company of Thorin."

"And no one has heard from them since?" Baraz shook her head. "Do you think-?"

"I think they have been too pretentious to believe they could reclaim such a place when it surely was stormed by Orcs and Goblins alike. King Daïn received word that they had arrived and somehow reclaimed it, but then time passed and nothing else was heard from them..."

"Gimli seems to believe they are still alive."

"Gimli has the stubbornness and foolish hope of every Dwarf in Erebor. All believe they are still alive. But I know better. My mother warned me about this."

"Your mother? Ariana?"

"Yes. She could foresee some things, we do not know how. When word came by letter that Balin had left Erebor to reclaim Khazad-dûm, she sent an urgent one to Oin, who was one of her dearest friends back then, to beg him to not go. She said they were going to their deaths..."

Aragorn nodded gravely. "So you think we ought to cross the Mountains as far from the mines as possible?"

"Aye, I do. And I am glad Gandalf agrees with me on this."

They remained silent after that, but the feeling of dread in Baraz' stomach did not fade as they grew closer to the Mountains. On the contrary, it grew stronger.

* * *

The following day, as all the companions safe for Sam and Aragorn were sleeping under the cover of a thin tree, ravens passed from the South, high in the sky, in a thick black cloud of cries.

When they awoke, Aragorn told his companions what these had been. "_Crebain_ from the land of Dun. I fear someone is looking for us."

Gandalf sighed and sat, leaning of his staff. "It is time I tell you the reason for my arriving late in Rivendell," he glanced at Frodo, "when I had promised to meet you in Bree." All sat around the wizard, ears and eyes opened on his old but fierce face. Only Aragorn, who seemed to know the story, looked away. "When I last saw you in Hobbiton," he was still addressing Frodo, "I realised I needed to seek council to make sure my wanting to leave on such an adventure as ours was wise. I therefore went to the wisest among my order: Saruman the White, who dwells in Isengard the Fair."

Many nodded at that, including Baraz, who had heard of the old white wizard from her mother, and who knew enough of the Istarí's customs to know Gandalf was bound more by tradition than by need when he had sought Saruman out.

"What I learnt there was far worse than I would have imagined. Not only did Saruman know of Sauron's awakening in the East, but he had also pledged allegiance to the Enemy." There was general gasp of horror around the companions. Legolas cursed in elvish, Gimli in dwarvish. "He kept me prisoner there for many a week, before I managed to escape with the help of an old friend: Gwaihir, King of the Eagles."

There was a long pause, and then Legolas spoke up. "So you think these _crebain_ have been sent by Saruman in his tower of Orthanc?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then we should hurry to the Mountains. Surely the wizard believes we would pass through the Gap of Rohan."

"Yes, that is what I think too. But the Gap of Rohan is too narrow and too arid to hope for safe travels. I agree, we have to hurry to the Pass of Caradhras." He stood, and with him the others. Pippin was not too happy about having yet again to skip breakfast, but the rest of the group was too worried to be seen to care for sustenance.

Only Baraz voiced her deepest fears as she grabbed her bow. "So the White Wizard has turned to the Enemy... How many of our former friends shall we have to see turn on us thus?"

Gandalf, who had been standing close, sighed. "I fear friendship is now of less importance than survival. We have to be weary of all things. Including those we think about as friends..."

Baraz didn't meet the wizard's stormy eyes, but she knew he had guessed she was thinking about Erebor and what might happen to those she indeed thought about as friends...

* * *

At last they began to climb the slope of the Mountain. Snow soon started to fall in a blizzard through which even Legolas' eyes could not see properly. After a while, Gandalf, who was walking front, had snow up to his knees. Behind him, Aragorn was struggling to pull the four Hobbits forward, for their short legs were almost stuck in the thick white cover. Sam cursed several times under his breath, cursing wizards and Men and all sorts while he pulled poor pony Bill forward.

Baraz, despite her height being in-between that of a Dwarf and of a Man, had snow up to her thighs, and it was getting harder and harder to pull her feet up from under the snow, and even through the heavy thick woollen boots of the Elves, she could feel her toes going numb.

"Why don't we stop?" asked Gimli after a while. His voice was swallowed by the blizzard, but companion upon companion shared the question until it reached Gandalf, and then his answer travelled back down the line.

"There's a cave we could find shelter in a few more yards away. If we can reach it, we can wait for the storm to end."

The Dwarf didn't seem happy with the proposition, and neither was his 'cousin', for she could hear a strange thing in the wind.

Baraz turned to Legolas, who was walking on top of the snow at the end of the line. "Can you hear? It sounds like voices."

The Elf glanced down at her then back up, and nodded. "Yes, I can hear it. Caradhras does not wish us here. The Mountain is trying to swallow us whole..."

But soon, the cry of Gandalf reached them. "It's Saruman! He is casting the storm!" And as soon as he had said that, the booming voice of the wizard echoed in the wind, amplified by the spell he was trying to conjure. His words were unknown to all, but Baraz knew it was old Quenya, the language of the High Elves of Gondolin, and of the Istarì, who had arrived on this Earth many millenniums prior.

But nothing Gandalf could do or say stopped the storm from falling or the wind from whistling, and after a few minutes more, Frodo and Pippin together begged to stop, for they could not feel anything down from their hips.

Gandalf pondered then ushered Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas to carry one Hobbit each while the fourth would climb onto poor Bill, who was soon relieved of extra bags Gimli and Baraz would carry.

Pippin climbed onto Boromir's back, Merry on Aragorn's, and Frodo on Legolas' while Sam cursed again and was hoisted onto the pony by Gandalf, who seemed to take all this stoically and who appeared more keen to reach shelter than to give in to the numbness of his company.

After long, Boromir stopped Gandalf as he saw Frodo drowsing off on Legolas' back before him. "This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf! It is useless to sit here until the snow goes over our heads. We must do something to save ourselves."

The wizard whirled around, his grey beard engulfed in white as snow covered his hair and pointy hat. He studied Frodo for a moment, then produced a flask he handed Baraz, who stood not far, checking on Pippin herself. "Give them this. Just a mouthful each – for all of us. It is very precious. It is _miruvor_, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting. Pass it around!"

Without questioning his words, Baraz opened the flask and helped a bit of draught into Pippin's dry mouth. The Hobbit swallowed and warmth seemed to come back to his cheeks. She placed the flask next to Boromir's lips, then Frodo's, and before long, every companion safe for herself had drunk from it and seemed to revive from its content. She took a careful little sip and tasted one of the most fragrant liquids she had ever tasted, and it brought fire to her insides and hope to her heart again. She handed the flask back to Gandalf, and without a word, he started to climb again.

* * *

Morning rose the following day, but with it ill tidings.

The disembodied voice of Saruman had erupted from the wind again, and although Gandalf did all he could to counter his spell, he could do no more good than if he had been trying to impact on the rising of the Sun.

Suddenly, Aragorn, behind Baraz, pushed her roughly to the side so she stood directly against the mountainside. She was about to enquire on his behaviour when he shouted loud and clear, his grey eyes to the skies: "Avalanche!"

All companions pushed against the rocky wall as snow tumbled from over their heads, more and more, until Baraz choked and could not see or feel anything that was not snow. The white and cold cloud covered her from head to toe, rendering her blind and numb to anything that'd surround her. She thought for a moment that this was what dying felt like – cold, numb, dark, lonely – before she felt a cold hand close around her arm from the side.

Her eyes opened onto greying snow before light erupted from in front of her – someone had dug into the snow to retrieve her. She gripped the mysterious companion's hand as strongly as she could with her nimble fingers, and he pulled her from her white coffin until she could see who it was – Boromir.

Around her, Legolas, standing onto the wall of snow as if he weighted nothing, Aragorn and Gimli were helping the halflings out of the snow themselves, while Gandalf stood, defeated, next to poor Bill, who shook from ears to tail.

Aragorn walked to the wizard after all companions had been salvaged. "We cannot go on like this. We are losing precious time in this storm."

The wizard nodded gravely and slowly, before he briefly glanced at Gimli then back into the horizon. "You are right. We have to walk back. And try to find the Doors of Durin."

At those words Baraz' head shot up, and her already white cheeks lost the little warmth they had gained by seeing the light of day again. Her blood froze in her veins and she froze on place, her hand stopped over her pack, which she had meant to wrap back around her shoulders.

Legolas, next and over her, placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked at him, albeit still too shaken to speak. "Are you alright?"

She did not answer.


	11. 10, The mines of Moria

_A/N: Hello again! Here is the next instalment, and this time, Baraz and the Fellowship enter the dangerous depths of Moria. I'm warning you: feels ahead. ;) Anyway, I've definitely finished the plot for the Fellowship part, and Baraz is soon to be going back home and NOW the fun begins. The whole plot for that part is sick. You'll see. ;)_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_The Doors of Durin, Moria from The Fellowship of the Ring OST; Pride of the Dwarves from The Battle for Middle-Earth II OST._

* * *

**10\. The mines of Moria**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**January**_

* * *

Going down from the slopes of Caradhras proved to be much faster and easier than climbing it. As soon as the Company turned around from their first aim, the snow-storm faded, a far off nightmare as they grew warmer and better while bathing in the sunrays of morning and relishing in a good fire once there was time and energy enough to light one.

Caradhras might not have wished for them to pass through his lands, but one thing was certain as they settled for the night on that day: more poisonous had been the treachery of Saruman.

As they ate their poor diner that evening, the choice Gandalf had made on their way up became a matter of discussion. Boromir more than others seemed to think the mines of Moria had to be avoided at all costs. "Maybe if we should be swift enough, passing through the Gap of Rohan might be possible. Or we can cross the Isen and enter Gondor by the South near Lebennin."

Gandalf shook his head. "No. We must come by the West in Mordor. It is the only way." He paused, and glanced at Gimli, though he did not address the Dwarf in particular. "Moria is our only chance of crossing the Mountains, but we will have to be very careful indeed."

Gimli, at that, raised his head and his dark eyes were glistening with excitement. Only he seemed joyful at the prospect of crossing the mines. "Why be careful? My cousin Balin ails there with his company, he will receive us with much food and ale and warmth!"

Gandalf made a face that could almost be considered close to disgust, then he turned to Boromir and Aragorn again. "The Dwarves who ailed there before have dug too deep into the Mountain, awakening a Force they could not fight. I would prefer if we did not awake it from its peaceful slumber."

Legolas shuddered. "How long will it take to cross?"

"Nigh on a month, I believe. Moria is vast, and I have been there only a long while ago. I must make sure to remember the way out."

"No need for that! Balin will surely escort us out!" No one gave Gimli's words any credit.

"Miss Baraz? What do you think of this?"

All heads turned to the young woman who had been sitting apart from the group, her eyes set on her hands, her blood still cold from the thought of crossing Moria.

She took a deep breath and ignored the cold look her fellow Dwarf sent her way. "I doubt this will be a peaceful journey underground, whatever we may think or try. But as there is no other way, I will follow."

Gandalf nodded contently, then glanced at the setting sun. "Let us rest. Tomorrow we will have long leagues to cross."

* * *

The road they took to find the Gate that lay south-west from their position proved to be even worse than the one from Rivendell to Caradhras: dead were the lands there, with no grass or tree or animal of any sort. Only red dirt as far as the eye could see, and rocks scattered around the plains.

It took a long day and another half to reach a pass through fells into the Mountain, and even then, Gandalf seemed not too happy. "Here used to flow the stream Sirannon. But it has dried away. What else has been altered from the days of old?" He cursed in his beard and brought the Company forward.

A little after noon that day, they reached the end of the road. A still lake stood at the feet of the Mountain, its dark waters nothing close to hope in the companions' hearts.

Aragorn stopped Sam and steeped low to the Hobbit's level. "We have to let Bill go." Sam began to protest, but the Ranger placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. "The mines are no place for a pony. Bill would surely die in such a place. It is best to send him back to Rivendell."

Baraz watched the exchange with fear in her heart. Surely the gentle beast would not reach Rivendell before a wolf or worse, Warg, found him and made him its diner. She lowered her gaze onto her feet to prevent Sam from guessing her thoughts, and before long, the halfling agreed to part from his loyal four-legged friend.

Gandalf had walked to the wall closing their way, and had pushed his hand onto the rock as if he willed a door to open at skin contact. Frodo stood close, as did Gimli who was staring at the Mountain as if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Legolas walked to Baraz. His fair eyes were dark with the gloomy light, and he crossed his arms on his chest, clearly not at ease. "I wished we did not have to pass through this..."

Baraz glanced to the side at him and nodded. "I share that feeling."

"Tell me... How are you not fond of mines? You have dwarven blood and used to live in the Lonely Mountain..."

She sighed heavily and passed a weary hand on her brow. "I am not overly fond of my forefathers' halls there either. I do not go into the lower levels unless I am ordered to. It must be my human blood talking."

The Elf nodded calmly, and behind them, Sam set Bill free.

The wait began.

* * *

Gandalf tried to find the secret entrance to the mines, but to no avail, and before long, the sun had begun to set in the West and a clear moon appeared in the sky.

Baraz gasped and pointed at the Mountain as she saw runes appear on the stone, lit by the moonlight as if having a life of their own. "_Ithildin!_"

"Yes, moon runes!" Gandalf claimed. He followed the patterns with his staff. "These are the emblems of the House of Durin," he pointed at a crown and beneath it an anvil and hammer, "and these are the Trees of the High Elves," two trees embracing pillars, "and the sigil of the House of Feänor," a single star with sixteen rays. "This is the door indeed." He then followed the words traces in ancient elvish characters. "_The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. And Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs._"

Gimli let out an excited shout. "It is easy enough! If we are a friend, we speak the password and the door will open!"

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, I think so too. Dwarf-gates only open under certain circumstances. Some open only at a given time, or only when a certain person uses the key. But this one, I believe, is governed by words." He sat down and his brow furrowed as he started to mutter some old words. But the door never opened.

Baraz paced back and forth near the wizard, half in expectation and half in fear that he should succeed.

Merry and Pippin had lit a fire and were eating a meagre diner while Boromir sat on a rock and stared at the door as if willing his stare to open it. Gimli was humming a dwarven tune to himself, and Aragorn and Legolas stood on the far end, engrossed in a discussion in elvish.

Sam was standing close to Baraz, his blue eyes sad and tired, and she soon placed a hand on his shoulder to soothe him. He smiled his thanks, but then went back to his glum thoughts.

And Gandalf could not find the password still.

* * *

Night was well far when suddenly, Frodo sprang to his feet. At the same time, Pippin threw the rest of his diner into the still waters of the lake, provoking large ripples to appear on the surface and to move ever so close to where the Company stood.

The Ring-bearer tapped on Gandalf's shoulder. "I think I understand! What is the elven word for 'friend'?"

Gandalf stared at him in confusion, then claimed '_Mellon_' and with a deafening crack, the dwarven door opened.

All the companions sprang to their feet and hurried to the blackness beyond, congratulating Frodo for such a swift trail of thoughts.

Gandalf then lit his staff and gestured them forward. "In we go then!"

But at the same moment, a tentacle erupted from the waters behind them and wrapped itself around Frodo's ankle, pulling him in the dark waters so quickly not one soul could have made a move to stop it.

Twenty other tentacles erupted from the dark waters, but this time, they were ready. Legolas grabbed his bow and fired several arrows to the mysterious beast, and its arms fell back into the water before springing out again. Aragorn and Boromir took out their swords and slashed at the tentacles, and cut them off one by one until Frodo was thrust back out by the foul foe.

Baraz caught the halfling before he fell to his death towards the rocks. Sam hurried to his master and tended to him while Gandalf ushered his companions inside.

The beast in the waters then rose to its full height, a monstrous greenish body rising above the lake until a hideous mouth let out the foulest of stench. The Company hurried inside the Mountain, and the beast thrust itself at the door...which collapsed.

All was black and thick. They could not see a thing, even Gimli with his dwarf eyes.

Gandalf then lit his staff and studied the fallen door. "There is no going back now. The only way is forward. Follow me, and by every means necessary, keep quiet."

He walked forward into the thick blackness of the Mountain, and soon, all followed.

* * *

The Hobbits did not seem deterred by being underground, as their hobbit-holes were dug into hills and such, and neither was Gimli, but the other four were having difficulties even breathing, especially Boromir.

"This Mountain wishes to swallow us whole..."

Baraz did not have the heart to try and soothe his thoughts, for she felt the same, and even worse.

Despite the light provided by Gandalf's staff, the mines were pitch black. One could not even see past the wizard so thick was the darkness. They advanced like that for hours, not knowing where they were heading, not even knowing if the day had ended outside. They lost track of time and of many other things. It was as if they had spent all eternity inside those mines, and that an eternity of journey was still ahead.

A little after sunset – but they had no way of knowing that – the Company reached some kind of bridge. Before it were piled thousand of objects, and soon, a deafening crack echoed around the whole group from where Pippin walked onto one of the black forms. The Hobbit's eyes closed as he realised what it was. Bones.

Gandalf bent over to study the skulls, and Gimli let out a proud grunt. "These are Orcs skulls! Surely those my cousins killed while retaking the mines!"

Aragorn shook his head. "They look much older, Gimli. I believe those skeletons are from the Battle of Azanulbizar."

Baraz' brow furrowed. "So deep in the Mountain?" The Man looked at her, puzzled, but did not answer. She averted her eyes from the sight given to her, for she knew with utter surety that those skeletons were not all Orcs. That under the bodies of the foul creatures laid some of her own kin. And she was not prepared for such a sight.

It was the first time in hours any of them talked out loud, but once they had started, a few conversations started all around. Sam addressed his master, Pippin and Merry addressed Boromir, and Legolas started to speak in ushered tones to Aragorn.

"Gimli, you said your cousins would welcome us, but there seems to be nowhere around..."

The Dwarf, who had been studying the skulls since their discovery, looked over at Merry, and his small black eyes seemed to even darken with frustration. "Moria is big and deep, master Hobbit! They surely live in the far East halls, those we will reach on the end of our journey! Do not think my kind to be unwelcoming!"

Merry looked down, sheepish, while Baraz exchanged once again a meaningful look with Aragorn. Legolas muttered under his breath something that looked like '_No one would ever dare say the Dwarves are unwelcoming_', and then, Gandalf asked the Company to once again start walking forward instead of doodling about.

* * *

They stopped a few hours later. They were on a steep staircase leading up, and Gandalf's staff, lit more strongly than before, made it easier to see around. The wizard sat away from the group and seemed to study the possible routes. Baraz immediately feared they were lost and some horrible weight settled on her stomach. She refused the portion of cold stew Sam presented her with, and kept her gaze on their guide, trying to distinguish what he was doing and if they were effectively lost.

Aragorn shook her off her thoughts by handing her the flask of _miruvor_ from Rivendell. "Drink. Gandaf said we could have one more sip each." When she made to refuse, he placed it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "Do not think to refuse. I know this place unsettles you greatly, as it does us all. You will need your strength to reach the other side."

She nodded at that, and took a careful sip of the revigorating draught. From the corner of her eye, she could see Legolas looking around, his fingers clenched around an arrow as if his Elf-ears had caught some unwanted sound. But Baraz' hearing was perhaps almost as good as an Elf's, and she could not hear a thing more than her companions' muffled chewing. It occurred to her in that moment that there perhaps was someone even more unsettled by the mines than her.

At last they resumed their journey underground again. None felt like sleeping, for they were all too weary for it. Gandalf, against all fears, knew where to go, and chose to climb higher in the halls in search for some fresher air.

But the mines were not in a good shape, and more than once, the roads sculpted against the stone walls gave way under their feet. Once or twice, Pippin almost fell into the dark emptiness below, had Boromir not been there to catch his hood and hoist him up back on his feet.

Time passed like this for longer yet. Baraz seemed to forget what a day looked like. It seemed to her like the hours had always been this long and boring and ever the same. Nothing changed, not even the scenery of the mines. She really was wondering how the Dwarves could once have thought this place beautiful.

They stopped twice for a quick rest, but Gandalf never closed his eyes, and apparently, neither did Aragorn.

One time, Baraz caught their low chatter. "We are being followed" was saying the wizard.

She could feel Aragorn's nod. "He has been following us since Caradhras."

"But does not wish to make himself seen yet. I guess we should be grateful it is so."

"Since our last encounter, I am not surprised he prefers to stay back."

"Keep him away from Frodo. Meeting such a creature could do much more damage than intended." And then they remained silent.

Baraz wondered all the hours of her rest what creature, what "he" they could have been talking about...

* * *

At last the group reached some kind of doorway leading into a small round room. Broken shelves and pegs on the walls soon told Baraz of its use: it surely was an ancient guardroom. When they reached the far off door, they all stepped into a huge and empty hall, magnificent carved pillars leading the way.

Baraz gaped at such a beauty, and when Gimli stopped at her side, she almost mirrored his proud smile. "Our forefathers did this, lassie."

She was touched he was considering her part of his kinsmen, and placed a hand on his broad shoulder as she followed the lead of their group.

Behind her, Boromir grunted. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

Aragorn answered. "So do I..."

They crossed the hall – the realm of the Dwarrowdelf, as Gimli said – in a little more than two hours. The feeling of uneasiness had left Baraz in this cavernous room, and she felt almost as if she was back in the halls of Erebor.

She remained close to Gimli in such a place, as if its beauty had made her feel closer to her fellow Dwarf.

Conversations started again, this time, the Hobbits asking why there were not many jewels in these higher halls. Gimli and Gandalf answered that the goblins had stolen Moria's riches over the years, in their everlasting greed for _mithril_.

Baraz looked over at Frodo at the mention of the silver-chain of the Dwarves. Her mother had been given a mithril shirt by Thorin when they reclaimed Erebor, and she knew for sure that her uncle Bilbo had given it to Frodo. It was something he would have done. To protect his nephew from the dangers of the road.

But the Hobbit did not answer her gaze.

* * *

As they reached the end of the room, something shifted in the darkness. A great sound started below their feet, down, down below, as if coming from the heart of the mountain itself.

The whole group shared a worried look and Gandalf's brow furrowed. "That was a hammer, if I am not mistaken. And I do not like the sound of it. Let's hurry. We may have awoken something that should not have been disturbed..."

Gimli gripped his father's axe and growled. "Let them come! Those filthy goblins!"

Baraz shuddered. Goblins... She remembered her mother's depictions of these creatures, and did not wish to meet them anytime soon...

On the far side of the hall, there were two doorways. One surely leading to another guardroom, and another, smaller door, but more ornate in a beautiful honey-coloured wood, with a soft light coming from inside.

In sheer curiosity, Gandalf pushed the door opened and entered, soon followed by the whole Company.

Baraz gasped at the sight she was given, and tears sprang to her eyes almost immediately. All around the room were scattered the skeletons of Dwarves, no doubt, still armed and their skulls deformed in fear. And in the centre of the room stood a huge tomb made in white stone.

Gandalf walked up to it and placed a hand on the stone, his eyes darkening as he read the words. "_Balin, son of Fundin. Lord of Moria._"

The cry that escaped Baraz' lips at that moment was almost swallowed in the darkness as the hammer sound resounded again, and she let herself fall backwards, only caught by Aragorn's strong arms as tears spilled from her eyes.

"Uncle Balin..."


	12. 11, The bridge of Khazad-dûm

_A/N: Aaaand...I'm back! Thanks again for the few feedbacks and alerts put on this. It's truly appreciated._

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Balin's tomb and Khazad-Dûm from The Fellowship of the Ring OST._

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**11\. The bridge of Khazad-dûm**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**January**_

* * *

Baraz fell backwards, only to be caught by Aragorn's arms. Her eyes were glued to the white tomb, and tears fell from her eyes as she put her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her sobs. She was mildly aware of the numerous pairs of eyes locked to her crying form, but could not look away.

"It was as I feared... Balin is dead..." No one could possibly miss the sorrow in Gandalf's voice as he said those words, and the weary look on his face as he placed a hand on the stone, just above the markings.

Gimli took off his helmet and walked to the tomb, no tears shed, but an incredulous sob leaving his lips nonetheless. "I cannot believe it..."

Baraz, at last, could look away, and Aragorn settled her down on a stairstep near the door. His grey eyes searched her face until she looked at him, and he looked truly sorry. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "My uncle..." another sob, "I can't believe he's dead..." Balin had always been an unmoveable force in her life, although she had not known him for long. Her mother, Ariana, had always told her how he had been the wisest among her Company, and the kindest also, and when he left for Moria, she had almost left the safety of the Shire to try and persuade him to stay in Erebor. She truly loved the old dwarf, and so did her daughter.

But worse things were to come than a white tomb, for soon, Gandalf found a little body crumpled against the stone, a book cradled in his bony hands. The sight of woollen mittens on the dead fingers made the wizard almost miss a step, and a second mask of sorrow and pain appeared on his face. "Ori... Dear Ori..."

Baraz stumbled to her feet and hurried to the wizard's side, gasping once again and once again tears falling from her eyes in cold waterfalls.

Ori had been the youngest in her mother's company, and also Nori's youngest brother. She had known him better through her young years, for he was a scholar and liked to tell her stories of times past and of adventures lived. He had always been kind to her, and the sight of his white skeleton, left there forgotten, broke her heart.

Gimli was by then kneeling in front of Balin's tomb, silently sobbing and praying Mahal to take care of those lost souls.

One thought crossed Baraz' mind at that moment, and her eyes searched around, looking for a healer's pouch and a _mithril_ necklace she had offered one particular Dwarf when she was little. _Oin_. Her mother's surrogate father, the healer among Thorin's company... Gimli's uncle... But she could see no proof of his death in the room, and for a crazed moment, she hoped he had yet survived.

After a long mourning moment, Gandalf steeped to take the book from Ori's corpse. He laid it on Balin's tomb and opened a random page. "This has been written by several hands. There are runes, both from Moria and from Dale, and some of it is written in Elvish."

Gimli looked up from his contrition. "Those were surely written by Ori. He could write at great speed and often used Elvish writing."

Gandalf nodded and opened a page written by Ori. Baraz ran a finger on the parchment. She recognized the hand-writing, for it had been Ori who had taught her how to write in Elvish. "This is a recording of the later years of the colony. It appears they didn't last more than five years." The wizard sighed then chose a paragraph to read. "_The tenth of november, Balin lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale._ Slain by an arrow as he was looking in the Mirror mere. What a tragic and stupid end..." He paused. "There is a great deal written in haste and that I cannot read, until the last part. _We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and second hall. Frár and Lóni and Náli fell there. The Watcher in the Water took Oin. We cannot get out. The end comes, drums, drums in the deep. They are coming._ And there is nothing more." Gandalf looked down at Baraz, who had zoned out at the mention of Oin's death. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Baraz, for I knew your affection for our good Oin."

She nodded absent-mindedly, once again heart-broken. Such a great civilization, ended in a matter of years. Such good friends, dead for naught. She was both sad and extremely angry.

But had not time to dwell on these thoughts.

For a set of drums started to echo in the room, coming from the halls beyond the doors.

* * *

Several things happened at once. Gandalf threw the heavy book into Baraz' hands, 'for safe-keeping', and hurried to the closed doors. Legolas notched three arrows and pointed them at the doorway. Boromir and Aragorn unsheathed their long swords. Frodo and Sam pushed Merry and Pippin behind them and took their own weapons. And Gimli climbed onto Balin's tomb and took out his beloved axe.

"There is still one Dwarf who draws breath in Moria!"

Baraz shook off her surprise and placed the book in her bag before she too notched an arrow. She walked to place herself before the four Hobbits, hoping she could protect them from what ill was coming for them.

"We must bar the doors!" Aragorn caught a lance and was ready to try and block the doors using it, but Boromir stopped him.

"Wait!" he said, and looked outside for a second before he drew back, arrows whizzing around his head. He looked at the Ranger, looking utterly defeated, and said "They have a cave-troll..."

"Let them come!" shouted Gimli.

Gandalf looked at Baraz and nodded at her protective stance before the Halflings. He then eyed the second set of doors, facing East. "We may be able to leave that way. But I'm afraid we'll still have to make a stand. Protect the Ring-bearer!" He unsheathed Glamdring and its white-light shone in the dimly lit room. It struck Baraz at that moment how dangerous Gandalf was looking despite his gentle appearance.

"You may need to notch more than one arrow, little one." Baraz looked over at Legolas, who was smirking down at her as if this fight was all he needed not to get bored. She rolled her eyes.

"We are not all as talented with a bow as Elves, _mellon-nîn_."

He did a double-take at her words, but did not discuss what had him surprised, for a loud bang was heard on the door. They were trying to get in, whatever they were.

* * *

Seconds drew by, and then an axe managed to pierce the old wood, and the hideous face of an Orc appeared for the fraction of a second before an arrow landed straight in its eye.

Legolas looked aside at Baraz with an amused smile. "I underestimated your aim, _Aier_."

She smirked back, and notched again.

The doors cracked open, revealing a legion of Orcs. Aragorn and Boromir immediately lashed out at them, soon to be swallowed by the swarm that entered the hall. Gimli yelled a great deal and used Balin's tomb to launch himself at the Orcs, and his father's axe did a lot of damage on his foes. Gandalf used both sword and staff, guarding the East doors and waiting for the most opportune moment to flee.

Then an enormous foot appeared in the doorway, and before Baraz could stop him, Frodo leaped forward, yelling 'For the Shire!' and Sting stabbed the troll's foot before the beast could enter. Black drops of blood fell onto the floor, and Frodo retreated just as a tall Orc charged at him with a spear. Baraz managed to pierce his skull with an arrow, but it was too late: the spear had been thrown, and had struck Frodo on his right side. She let out a squeal of terror, but at least, the Halfling was still alive, his eyes squinted in pain.

Sam hurried to his master's side as Merry and Pippin, in a moment of rage, entered the fight. Boromir and Baraz alike tried to keep them safe, but even then, Pippin soon had to duck under a sword, and sported a cut on his cheek.

At last the Orcs retreated, and Gandalf's staff opened the East doors. "This is our queue! Hurry!"

Aragorn hurried to Frodo's side and placed him on his shoulder while Legolas and Baraz pulled Gimli from Balin's tomb which he did not want to leave.

Gandalf sent them ahead as he protected the doorway, and Gimli and Baraz walked ahead, for their sight was better than the rest. Frodo soon asked Aragorn to set him down, but the Ranger did not have time to wonder how he could still live, as they all but ran in utter darkness down thousand of steps.

At last Gandalf joined them, but his staff was not lit, and he looked battered and bruised. He took the lead again, with Gimli, but refused to say what had happened at the gate. Behind the group they could still hear the drums going, although they sounded far off and slower than them.

"We are close to the East Gate now, I think. But I must stop. I must rest."

Aragorn walked to Gandalf. "What happened up there?"

"I have met something I had never seen before. A Balrog of Morgoth." There was a general gasp among those who knew what such a thing entailed, and Baraz felt her blood freeze in her veins. "We have to outrun it, but I am too weary." He then looked over at where Frodo stood, and his brow furrowed. "I thought you were dead."

Frodo shook his head. "I am not, as you can see..."

"This spear should have gone right through you!"

Baraz smiled despite the grave hour and placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I guess we can say that Frodo has his own tricks." She winked at the Halfling who seemed to understand the message. 'Keep the _mithril_ shirt secret', she seemed to say.

Gandalf grunted and stood straighter. "Come now. Hurry. These things are still behind us, hunting us down."

* * *

After lot of running down they reached a narrow bridge: the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Gandalf sent Gimli ahead, then the Hobbits, then Baraz, leaving the two Men and Legolas to end the line while he glanced behind them.

Baraz could hear, as she hurried down the narrow stone path, the cackles of Orcs behind her, and she notched arrow after arrow, whirling around to fire them into darkness until her quiver was empty.

"There's no use, Miss Baraz!" yelled Aragorn as he hurried behind her.

At last she crossed, and she turned around to make sure her companions crossed safely as well. She sent Gimli up ahead the new staircase, but she could feel fresher air and guessed those stairs lead outside. The Dwarf took Sam, Merry and Pippin with him and they ran up the stairs, while the rest remained, Frodo refusing to leave Gandalf behind.

The wizard was hurrying down the bridge when a huge black and fiery form appeared behind him, drawing a gasp of terror from all his companions, doomed to watch. The thing was almost like a Man, but greater, and its hair and eyes were all fire, and he was drawing a whip of flames in his hand. The Balrog.

"_Gandalf!_" came the strangled cry of Frodo, and Baraz only had enough time to catch him before he flew to the wizard's side.

Gandalf lifted his staff, and struck the ground with it, light erupting from the tip and blinding all around. "You shall not pass!" he exclaimed, and the bridge gave way before him, making the hideous form stumble and fall into the fiery depths of the Mountain.

They all believed it was over, but as Gandalf turned around to face his companions, Baraz heard the whipping sound of thongs, and flames erupted from below, wrapping themselves around the wizard's ankle. He fell backwards and tried to catch himself on the edge of the bridge, but could not hold.

His stormy eyes met those, stunned and frightened, of his friends, and with a final 'Fly, you fools', he let go.

It was the 15th of January, and Gandalf the Grey had fallen.


	13. 12, Lothloríen

_A/N: Hello back readers and so sorry for the delay again! I have been given back my works, so no worries, this story is back on tracks! To apologize properly for so long a wait, I give you two chapters in a row. We are nearing the end of the Fellowship arc of this story, and I'm excited to show you what I've done next! ;) Enjoy!_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Khazad-dûm from the Fellowship of the Ring OST; Elven morning light from the Battle for Middle-Earth II OST._

* * *

**12\. Lothloríen**

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_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**January**_

* * *

Another pang of hurt filled Baraz at the sight of her old friend, her mentor even, in so many ways, disappear in the darkness. She was frozen, unable to do anything but stare, her mind blank, her hand going limp around Frodo, who was still thrashing in her arms as he tried to make her let go of him.

It's only when an arrow buzzed right next to her ear that Baraz shook off her numbness, grabbed Frodo stronger, and turned away from the painful scene, ascending the stairs leading out as far as she could.

Behind her, Legolas fired a set of arrows before he picked her own weapon from the ground where she had left it. Aragorn on tow, they all exited the Mines.

When fresh air touched her face, Baraz closed her eyes and tried to feel better. She was freed of the gruesome hold of the mines on her soul, but the breeze against her face could not push the tears back in or make her forget the fall of her friend.

When Gimli and the other three Halflings saw them appear from the mountain, they hurried to them with victorious smiles. It's only when they noticed their grim faces that Gimli, first, asked a daunting "What happened?" that made Baraz fight a sob.

* * *

Choosing to move away from the scene of Boromir telling the others of the wizard's demise, she walked a bit and her feet brought her to Frodo's side. The Hobbit was now as she had been moments before: frozen, unable to move as he cried for his fallen friend. One of his hands rested on his right side, where the spear had struck.

Aragorn, having followed them, moved in their sight. "I should have a look at your chest, Master Baggins."

Frodo looked at the Ranger blankly, unseeing. Baraz sighed and placed a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder, turning to the Man. "I will do it. Sam is more badly wounded. He has a nasty gash on his forehead. He will require your steady hand."

Aragorn seemed to understand that she was pushing him away, but did not question her motives. He let a bundle of cloth next to her with a canteen of water and a few herbs for a poultice, and walked back to the rest of the group. When she followed his retreat, Baraz saw Pippin lying on the ground, his limbs trembling in pain. It made another lump of sadness form in her throat, and she turned from the sight, refusing to shed any more tears that day.

Frodo was staring at her when she glanced at him. With a hoarse voice that translated his own grief, he asked "Why didn't you want to see?"

She shrugged. "I have always thought that my mother's gifts to Bilbo were better kept secret. Let's make your foes believe it is impossible to slay you rather than let them know you have a hidden armour." She tried a small smile that felt too fake, and then she tugged at his jacket. "Off."

She helped the Halfling shed his shirt next, for he winced in pain when straining his muscles too hard. When the mithril coat appeared in the sunlight, Baraz knew she had made the right choice. Its gleam was hidden by her form, and it would avoid future questions from their companions.

On Frodo's right side stretched an angry violet bruise, sole memory of the spear that had almost killed him. Baraz made a quick poultice with the leaves Aragorn had left her, and bandaged her childhood friend's chest.

She could see the Ring bouncing on his chest now and then, but forced herself not to look. It was an object of evil, and she refused to be tempted by its evilness.

* * *

When she was done helping Frodo back in his clothes, a deep voice rose from behind her.

"Baraz?"

She turned slightly, raising a brow in question. "Yes, Gimli?"

"I wondered if you would come with me for a moment." He paused, but upon seeing her surprise, he added "Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere, lies so leagues down, but we can see it from the slopes here. No Dwarf should leave Moria without seeing it."

Baraz smiled. It was the first time he truly acknowledged her parentage, and it moved her deeply. Nodding, she stood. "Thank you, cousin. I will come with pleasure."

He nodded back, and started to walk forward, towards the edge of the cliffs. She followed in silence.

When they reached the edge, a long, flat stone engraved with a single rune, Gimli stopped and glanced down at the sight the valley below gave him. Baraz did the same, and her heart leapt in her chest.

It was almost a joyful sight, this mere below, shaped like a spear thrust in the mountain-side. It was a deep dark blue, like a night's sky, and yet its stillness and beauty soothed her pain for a while. She felt herself sigh in delight, and her hand went to her fellow Dwarf's shoulder in a silent 'thank you'. Her father was right: some things of nature were so beautiful it was painful...

* * *

When they went back to their Company, it appeared Aragorn had been waiting for their return. He was standing ahead with Legolas, both talking in ushered tones in a language unknown of the others. Well, all others except Baraz.

She approached the two and caught the end of their conversation.

"_...naa lye autien e'Lothloríen?_" _**...are we going to Lothloríen?**_

Legolas nodded frantically. "_Ar. Ron ona veriad a'lye._" _**Yes. They will help us.**_

Baraz nodded, thinking it a good time to reveal herself. "_Ar. Weera-nîn yassen ho._" _**Yes, I agree with him.**_ She let her two friends turn abruptly in her direction, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips, before carrying on. "_Galadriel-arwen nae naneth-nîn mellon._" _**Lady Galadriel was my mother's friend.**_

Aragorn nodded slowly, Legolas smiling a bit as she finished as if nothing at all was amiss. Then the Ranger said, in Westron, "Then it is decided. Gather the others, we are leaving at once." He patted Baraz' shoulder as Legolas did as he asked and went to call their companions. "You are definitely full of surprises, Miss Baraz."

She did not answer. On the horizon, the green border of the so-called 'Golden Wood' was pulling her in. She did not know why – yet – but this Forest seemed to call her.

* * *

It took the Company a day and a half to reach the edge of the wood. In the night after their escape from the mines, it became certain that Orcs were following them, having surely waited for sunset to go on a hunt. Legolas had caught their scent in the wind. Aragorn had then decided not to stop to rest.

Now that they were in the cover of the trees, Baraz felt irremediably safer. She could not really explain it, and would not be able to for many years after, but something in the air made the weight on her shoulders lift, as if time itself had no hold on the place.

Legolas closed his fair eyes and took a deep breath, a smile forming on his lips. "I have often dreamed of visiting my Southern kin, for it was said that their realm was the most beautiful in all of Middle-Earth. We have not yet seen their capital, and already I tend to agree." He glanced down at Baraz, who answered his smile with one of her own.

All companions seemed transfixed by the Golden Wood. Although, even in the setting sun, the trees looked more green than gold. Baraz touched a trunk and felt a surge of power play in her fingertips for a few moments. She revelled in the feeling, until Aragorn shook her off her thoughts.

"We need to move. They are still on to us. And they look ready to enter the forest to follow."

At that all hurried forward, the Ranger leading on, for he had visited once before the land of the Lady of Light. Her dwellings, he said, lied many leagues away, and it would take them several days to reach it. But at least, the trees themselves offered a good defence against the minions of the Enemy.

* * *

When the sun set completely, the forest seemed to spring to life. Fireflies erupted from tree trunks, offering a lovely bluish hue strong enough to help the wanderers find their way. This too contributed to the magic of the place and, if they had not been hunted down, Baraz would have stopped to admire the dance of the bugs and bats in the night air.

Her worries and losses were all but forgotten at that moment, and she could not remember, in all honesty, why she had been that sad the morning prior. Though, as she would soon discover, it was another power of the forest.

When Aragorn asked for a halt, at last, they had reached a small stream. He said its name was Nimrodel, and that it would fight off any foe of theirs at least for a few hours.

The trees surrounding them were high, but their branches were low enough to permit them to climb high in the cover of their leaves for a few hours' sleep.

Gimli and Baraz, belonging to a very earthy folk, were not very appreciative of the idea, but hoisted themselves in a tree nonetheless, the Dwarf preferring that to the humiliation. Baraz chose a tree close to Merry and Pippin but while the youngest two of their group found sleep quite easily, it did not come to her before another hour had passed. And even then, it was more light slumber than true sleep.

* * *

Nigh on midnight, the sound of laughter rose to her ears, making her shake off her peaceful slumber. Thinking it, at first, to be Orcs, she grabbed her bow, ready to notch an arrow at first notice. Then she realised Orcs did not laugh, and that the sound was too light, too beautiful, to belong to any other beings than Elves.

They were speaking quickly in Sindarin, their speech of no real importance, before they stopped near the stream. One sniffed the air, and then silence.

When the deepest voice of the three – for she had counted three – rose again, it came from just under her tree.

"_Ya naa lle?_" _**Who are you?**_

Baraz heard someone slide down a tree, but at the noise he made, she knew it was Aragorn and not Legolas. Although the fleeting sight of a brown mane told her the Elf had followed. "_Aragorn, o'Dunedain. Llye naa anta veriad-lle._" _**I am Aragorn of the Dunedain. We need your help.**_

There were laughs again. "_Edan, ar'Taur'Quessir, ar'Nogothea, ar'Peredhili... Mankoi lle veriad anta?_" _**A Human, a Sylvan Elf, Dwarves and Halflings... Why do you need help?**_

Baraz felt an annoyed growl birth in her throat and she let herself fall from her perch. At her sight, the Elves stopped chuckling. He who seemed to be their leader was a tall, blonde Elf with brown eyes. He looked at her with sheer curiosity, even more so when she started to speak.

"_Lle tela, Taur'Quessir? Mellonea-nîn lamba llye anta veriad-lle!_" _**Are you finished, Sylvan Elf? My friends said we need your help!**_

The leader took two strides towards her, a brow raised in curiosity. "_Nogoth?_" _**Dwarf?**_

She shook her head. "_Pernogoth._" _**Half-Dwarf.**_

The Elf's eyes lit with amusement, and he looked back at Aragorn, switching to Westron for no apparent reason – in fact, the four Hobbits had risen too and they did not speak Elvish. "We will help you. If only to know a bit more about this young lady you travel with and whose likeness is not often found in these parts." He shared a glance with her again, although she was more annoyed than excited, to be honest. "But let's all enjoy the rest of the night."

He nodded to his two companions who turned away, one going South while the others went West. When he looked back at the travellers, he explained. "I have sent my friends ahead. One to see if the Orcs are sill after you, and the other to warn the Lord and Lady that you are coming." He paused. "I am Haldir."

All bowed their heads in respect. But Baraz refused to give her name too soon. This Elf was a stranger, after all, even if he was an Elf, time and experience had told her even the fairest of folks could turn evil if given the opportunity...

* * *

When she went back to her tree, Baraz quickly noticed that Haldir was taking the same direction, and indeed, he climbed right after her, although choosing a much higher branch to settle. He took out a piece of wood that was already half-polished, and a beautiful silver knife to carve it with.

She stared at his movements for a while, until she realised he was somehow lulling her to sleep.

When their gazes met, he smiled. "_Esta, Pernogoth. Amin tira ten._" _**Rest, Half-Dwarf. I am watching.**_

She nodded and felt her eyelids droop with sleep. This forest was full of surprises...

* * *

_A/N2: Just another quick note to tell you that I've really taken it to heart to write in Elvish, but I know that I'm far from being an expert, so... My sources are mainly the Grey Company and . :)_


	14. 13, The mirror of Galadriel

_A/N: ALERT! If you are coming here right from your alerts, you will need to go back to chapter 12...This is the second of two chapters posted at once! ;)_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Caras Galadhon from the Fellowship of the Ring OST; Elven morning light from the Battle for Middle-Earth II OST; The mirror of Galadriel from the FOTR OST._

* * *

**13\. The mirror of Galadriel**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**February**_

* * *

After a few more hours of dreamless sleep – the forest again, no doubt – Baraz woke to a sun ray teasing her face, getting through the canopy of leaves above her head. As she sleepily glanced up, she then realised that the trees had indeed taken the golden tint that gave its name to the forest. She gingerly touched a branch, feeling again the faint buzz of power under her fingertips.

Haldir's voice to her right shook her off her daze. "_Mallyrn essa en ron._" _**They are called Mallorn.**_

Baraz met the Elf's brown eyes. In the light of day, he seemed much less intimidating that the night before. She nodded with a small smile. "_Ron naa vanima._" _**They are beautiful.**_

He smiled and bowed the head slightly, before he raised a quizzical brow again. "_Mani naa essa en lle, Pernogoth?_" _**What's your name, Half-Dwarf?**_

Baraz did not answer right away. But after a few seconds, she understood that Haldir was not a danger, and that her name, after all, did not hold as much power as it did far North. "Baraz."

He tried the name and his nose turned upward. As all Elves, he did not like the harsh sound of a Khuzdûl word.

Baraz chuckled and said "_Legolas lambe amin Aier._" _**Legolas calls me 'Short One'.**_

Haldir smiled again. "_Amin lambeva lle Aier._" _**I will call you that, then.**_

They nodded to each other, and then Baraz realised her friends were awake as well, if Gimli's morning curses were any clue. She let herself fall down the tree, followed by the light and silent Elf.

Legolas greeted her with an amused smile upon seeing his kin so curious about her, and she sent him a playful glare.

Aragorn, on the other side, had his grey eyes settled on the road they had taken the night prior. He was studying the trees, worried, perhaps, that the Orcs were hidden in some bush, waiting to leap on them to kill them.

Haldir put a hand on the Ranger's shoulder. "_Uuma dela. Faelyn sooraa sen. Ron autaa Lothloríen Rhun._" _**Don't worry. Faelyn followed them. They left Lothloríen East.**_

While the news seemed to soothe Aragorn's worries, Baraz felt her heart squeezed in her chest. East? Could it be the filth had gone to Erebor?

She shook her head. No need to worry. This war was not only on her beloved Mountain. It was on each and every free city in Middle-Earth.

* * *

The group left their small clearing a few minutes later, after the four Hobbits had eaten a good filling breakfast. At least, what a normal human being would think a good filling breakfast. Baraz knew from experience that the two apples and sole toast with jam were far from filling a Halfling's belly.

As Haldir lead the group South towards their Lord and Lady's dwelling, Baraz fell into step with Boromir, who had remained awfully silent the previous days. She quickly enquired on this silence.

He shrugged. "I feel like this wood is draining me. As if I can hear voices in my head..."

He looked over at Baraz, half-hoping, perhaps, that she was experiencing the same sensations. She shook her head. "I am not feeling the same, dear friend, quite the contrary. This forest brings me the peace that alluded me in the mines."

He sighed. "Yes, I guess this is better than being buried alive..."

Baraz raised a brow at him. He looked weary, that was true. But she suspected that something else plagued him. She had seen his keen eyes go to Frodo often ever since they had left Moria. Whether the One Ring had a hold on him that she ignored, or he was only suspicious of the Ring-bearer, she did not know, but chose to change his mind rather than add to his misery.

Plastering a smile to her lips, she patted his arm and asked "Tell me about Minas Tirith. I often heard about its magnificence. It is as white as people say?"

At this the Man's eyes lit up with renewed joy. He was obviously very fond of the city he was born in, and did not waste any time in telling her how the White Tower gleamed in sunlight, so strongly that when someone looked straight at it, they had to protect their eyes from the force of it; how the Library was full of parchments sometimes as old as time itself; how he had received his first armour when he was just a little boy, and the look of pride in his father's eyes; how he loved his younger brother Faramir, who was so much more cautious than him and more boring in his study of things. All the while she could see he missed his home. But at least, for the newt three hours, he was not thinking of the misery their Quest had put them into.

* * *

Lothloríen was a maze not unlike Mirkwood, although it was not filled with giant spiders and moths as big as a small child. It was clear forest with birds chirping and tweeting and flowers everywhere the eye went. It was peaceful, without a single blow of wind, and yet the leaves of the tree danced as if touched by an invisible hand.

Haldir lead them restlessly through the day, then another, and another still. On the afternoon of the third day, though, the scenery changed. Soft mounts became higher hills, and the Elf stopped at the top of one, glancing into the horizon.

"We will reach Caras Galadhon before sunset. I can see it from here." Legolas settled next to his fellow Elf and nodded, his lips stretched in a happy smile. Baraz would have given much to see hat he was seeing, but her eyes only stretched a few yards ahead and could not distinguish one tree from the other.

Haldir was right in his calculations. The group rounded a good number of hills more before they reached a huge clearing in the middle of which stood the tallest tree anyone had ever seen in this life or the other.

Baraz stood there, staring at the tree in awe. If she had glanced aside at her companions, she would have seen the same open-mouthed dazed expression on each face. Even Legolas'.

Caras Galadhon, the Home of the Galadhrim. A millennia old tree with a beautifully carved stairs running around it and leading to platforms every ten feet or so in the air. Air that seemed to buzz with even more power and magic than before. Soft patches of pavement here and there lead to enclosed part of what could only be described as a garden though nature was its own master there. There also were a couple of fountains on top of which stood, invariably, a statue representing a spirit of the Earth.

"Come. My Lord and Lady await us at the top." Haldir smiled at the Company, used, most probably, to the goofy smiles that birthed on the visitors' lips.

They all followed towards the stairs, and not once Baraz thought about the long and no doubt tiring climb ahead.

* * *

In fact, it was neither long nor tiring. Something pushed her forward and up without breaking so much as a sweat. They climbed and climbed, hands touching the trunk of the massive tree once or twice in reassurance. Baraz heard the Hobbits whisper words of admiration more than once, comparing the place to the most beautiful spot in Bywater: the Meadow. She smiled softly in the faint light, thinking how far from the Shire Lothloríen was, and how incomparable the two places were.

After a good half-hour, which had felt far less, they finally reached a platform from which no other flight of stairs began. Instead, there was a table with two chairs, and an arch carved in the bark of the tree itself leading inside, no doubt to personal quarters.

Haldir placed the group in a line, taking his time to place the Halflings in front of the others. He placed Baraz right next to Legolas, with Gimli on her other side. She smirked, understanding his antics. By placing her there, he was making sure that his Lord and Lady noticed the difference in height between her and the other two. Making her stand out as unique. What he didn't know was that it was useless. Galadriel knew of her already.

They waited a couple of minutes before their hosts exited the tree hand in hand. Baraz could not help but stare. They were so beautiful, and yet so different from the other Elves she had met before. They looked old, their skin so smooth it almost seemed made of marble.

They both had golden hair down to their waist. The male wore a pale blue tunic, and had plaited his long hair out of his face; the female – Galadriel, no doubt – wore a crown of mithril and the ethereal white dress she wore made her look like a nymph.

They both smiled at their visitors. The male – Celeborn, she remembered – addressed them in a deep but welcoming voice. "Welcome to Caras Galadhon, Fellowship of the Ring. I am Celeborn, and this is my wife, Galadriel."

Aragorn bowed the head in respect, soon mirrored by everyone else. "It is an honour, my Lord."

Celeborn smiled wider and raised a hand in peace. "No need for this, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. It is not the first time our paths are crossing. Although it is the first time ours are, Legolas Thranduilion." The Mirkwood Elf placed a hand over his heart in greeting. "Too seldom is our Northern kin visiting us. You are very welcome."

The couple moved a little to the left to face the other members of the Company. When they passed Baraz and went directly to address Gimli, her brow furrowed. "It is very rare for a Dwarf to be received here, Master Gimli. I do hope you will appreciate your stay. We are in dire need to reforge alliances between our two people."

Gimli nodded, his black eyes locked, though, to the Elf-Lady in front of him. He seemed transfixed.

* * *

When Celeborn came to address Boromir, Baraz felt a strange wave pass over her. As if a wave of freezing water had taken over her body and soul, but not in a painful way. When a voice rose in her head, she understood.

"_I have wished to set eyes on you for quite a long time, Baraz, daughter of Ariana._"

She glanced at Galadriel, meeting her deep blue eyes and smile. "It is an honour, my Lady." When she realised she had said that out loud, her companions turned to her, but their hostess' smile only widened.

When her voice rose aloud, it was even more beautiful than before. Deep, feminine and yet powerful. "I wish us all to be friends."

When the introductions had been made, Celeborn made an ample gesture with his arms. "You are free to stay as long as you like. Accommodation will be prepared for you. I think our Dwarrow friends will prefer to sleep on the ground. We will see to that."

They were about to be dismissed when Galadriel's voice arose again. "How did he fall?"

They had stopped and stared at her. Hearts fell, shoulders slouched in pain, and when Aragorn answered, tears prickled Baraz' eyes. "Gandalf was taken by a Balrog of Morgoth."

Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment, lips silently moving as if she was chanting an incantation. When she opened them again, the smile returned, albeit sadder than it had been. "Thank you. He will be sorely missed."

* * *

They had almost reached the bottom of the tree again when a hand touched Baraz' arm and she glanced over her shoulder at the worried face of Boromir. Her own brow furrowed upon seeing her friend in distress.

"Boromir? What unsettles you?"

He shook his head slightly, then sighed. "Has she...did she... Did the Lady talk to you too?"

Baraz was about to answer that of course, Galadriel had talked to her, he had heard her with his own ears, when she realised he was talking of that. Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' and then she nodded.

"She said things..." he shuddered, "things that I hope never to hear again."

"Was it so terrible?"

He nodded. "I dare not repeat her words but...if she is right, then... I have doomed us all."

Baraz stopped her descent and turned to face the tall Man. He had been so worried, so weary these past few days, and she hated to see her friend like that. Her small hand met his and she gently squeezed his fingers. "Boromir, son of Denethor." He locked eyes with her. She smiled softly at him. "You are one of the bravest men I have ever met. You could never do any of us any harm. Now come. Let's light a fire and talk of much happier days."

And when he followed her down, her smile faded. Boromir...their doom? What had Galadriel seen?

* * *

As their feet touched the ground and Haldir lead the group towards their accommodations, as Celeborn had called them, a heart-breaking lament began to fill the air. One voice, then two, then many, joined... It was as if the whole place was chanting.

Legolas' eyes filled with tears after the first verse – which had been sung in Quenya, for Baraz did not understand it. He said in a quiet voice: "They are singing for Gandalf."

The whole Company stopped and listened to the lament. Pippin soon started to weep, as did Gimli after a time.

Baraz closed her eyes and just let the elvish fill her senses, a hand clutching her chest just above her heart.

"_Mithrandir, Mithrandir, A Randir Vithren ú-reniathach i amar galen I reniad lín ne mór, nuithannen. In gwidh ristennin, i fae narchann__en I lach __Anor__ ed ardhon gwannen __Caled veleg, ethuiannen._" _**Mithrandir, Mithrandir, O Pilgrim Grey, No more will you wander the green fields of this earth, Your journey had ended in darkness. The bonds cut, the spirit broken, The Flame of Anor has left this world, A great light had gone out.**_

When the tune faded out, Baraz' eyes opened again and the first person's eyes she met were Aragorn's. He had dried streaks of tears on his face, and when he bowed the head at her, she did the same, a silent understanding that this song had reopened their wound and then closed them forever. The time for pain was over. The time for grief had come.

Haldir brought the group to a beautiful clearing sheltered by a bending root that danced over the ground. Under it had been spread several mattresses with blankets and pillows. A fountain sang nearby. The whole setting was as peaceful as could be.

Their host left them to their occupations and as night fell, the Fellowship settled and went to bed. After Sam had managed to produce a delicious broth from a couple of what he had managed to keep safe during the last part of their journey, one by one fell asleep on comfortable beds, heads emptied of fear and weariness.

Baraz closed her eyes to the form of Aragorn sitting on a rock and lighting his pipe. When the rings of smoke started to rise from the man, she felt herself being lulled to slumber by the close-by fountain...

* * *

It was still pitch black when Baraz awoke to the sound of her own name whispered by the breeze that caressed her face. She opened an eye, then two, staring at the empty clearing. The wind touched her face again, and there it was once more.

_Baraz... Baraz..._

As if pulled up by an invisible string, she rose, her bare feet bringing her to the edge of the clearing and onto a paved pathway. If she had turned her head, she'd have seen an empty bunk bed. That of Frodo.

Her feet brought her to a thin passage between two high trees. The path was going down a soft slope from there, and the quiet singing of water nearby, as well as a slightly colder breeze, told Baraz that she was nearing a stream.

Her fingers were dancing on the barks of trees, her eyes glancing up into the leaves here and then. She could not remember ever visiting a place more peaceful than Caras Galadhon. But, and the thought brought a frown to her features, she knew that it would not keep the Enemy or their mission at bay. As long as they stayed, they were putting the Elves in danger...

* * *

A voice ahead shook off her thoughts and she stared in front of her, trying to catch who was awake at this ungodly hour.

When she caught the ethereal voice of Galadriel as well as a glimpse of a brown mop of hair, she stopped. The Elf Lady was with Frodo.

Baraz considered interrupting for one second before she realised this was probably the stupidest thing she had ever thought in her life. Frodo was the Ring-bearer. He had much more interesting things to discuss with a thousand of years old Elf than she had. So she waited, her toes buried in a cover of moss, and her thoughts drifted again.

They drifted to the Shire, to a time when, merely two dozens of years old – still a child by all means – she wandered off in the woods surrounding Hobbiton, and when she was often joined by younger Hobbits who wanted to know if she was an Elf. In those times, she was laughing and shaking her head, but agreed to tell them wonderful stories about the Tall Kin, stories that her mother had told her in confidence. And when all the Hobbitlings had filled their memories with tales of Luthíen the Fair and Gid-galad the Brave, they were all going home, clothes green from having rolled into the grass.

* * *

The shuffling of big feet shook her off her thoughts once more. When Baraz opened her eyes, she saw Frodo walk her way, although he seemed more swallowed up in his own thoughts than anything else. When he arrived at her height, he glanced up at her and nodded sharply before passing her.

His behaviour had been strange as of late, considering they had basically been raised together, but Baraz always pushed the matter away, thinking it a futile thing.

When he gaze raised again, she saw the Lady of Light waiting for her, her blue eyes boring into hers even from a distance.

When she reached her, Galadriel smiled softly and bowed the head in greeting. Baraz mirrored her, then asked, keeping her voice low as if the whole place demanded it, "You wanted to see me?"

Galadriel nodded with another smile. "I thought you would like to see this." She stretched a hand towards the basin that stood nearby.

It was resting on three roots that had sprung from the ground and weaved themselves against each other, forming a beautiful vine. The basin in itself seemed made of pure silver, and inside rested the clearest water Baraz had ever seen, even in Erebor with the source of the Celduin.

"This is my Mirror," the Elf said. "I can show you things to pass through it, should you wish it."

Baraz stared at her hostess in awe. Of course, her mother had told her countless times before that Galadriel had the gift of foresight, but never would she have hoped to see things for herself. "I wish it."

The Elf smiled wider and stretched a long finger to touch the water. Through the ripples, Baraz saw images form, and she gazed at them, a frown settling on her features almost instantly.

* * *

_She was back in Erebor. The Front Gate had been cracked open, smoke rising from inside the Mountain. Piles of bodies, Men and Dwarves alike, could be seen on the slope below, and the cries of a battle could be heard from across the plain._

_She was running now, running towards the fight. Her foot caught onto something and she glanced down, gasping when she saw Dwalin's dead eyes stare into nothingness, his strong hand still gripping his beloved axe._

_A few feet further, the broken bodies of Dain and Thorin lay, bloody and defiled, while Brand still fought, Kilí by his side, although the battle was lost. They were the only two fighters left alive, and at Kilí's feet, Baraz was horrified to discover the small body of Filí. Beheaded._

_A cry erupted from her lips, and she tore herself free from the vision._

When she looked up into Galadriel's face, Baraz realised she was crying. Wiping away her tears, she asked, with a trembling voice, "Has this happened?"

The Elf shook her head. The smile had faded and she sported a much graver look on her fair face. "It could happen. But could not."

Baraz growled a little, her hands balling into fists. "I have to warn them."

Galadriel raised a hand. "No need for haste, young one. Erebor is not yet in danger. Your friends are. If you leave now, you could jeopardize this whole Quest. Have you thought about it?"

Baraz did not answer, the vision still shadowing her vision. The sight of Filí's corpse had broken her heart more than anything else.

At last, after a moment of silence, she bowed the head. "Thank you, for showing me this, my Lady. I am grateful."

Galadriel's smile returned. "I was very fond of your mother, dear Baraz. And I think she would have been very proud of you in this moment..."

Baraz tried a smile of her own. Yes, she hoped Ariana would have been proud too...


	15. 14, Parth Galen

_A/N: Hello readers! We're back to our usual updating schedule, twice a month. I hope you liked the previous chapters and I promise you will never have to wait that long between updates anymore. If I ever lie, send me a Balrog._

_Anyway, we truly are nearing the breaking of the Fellowship now, and I'm soon to be going into unknown terrain. Stick with me, it'll be worth the wait!_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Elven nightfall from the Battle for Middle Earth II OST; Parth Galen from the Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**14\. Parth Galen**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**February**_

* * *

When she returned to her friends, Baraz felt her heart weigh heavier than before, the knowledge of what could come to pass almost too much to bear. A hand clutched at her chest, her thoughts buzzing, she almost didn't see Legolas as he stood on the same rock Aragorn had sat on earlier, watching her approach.

When she did notice her friend, she tried a small smile, but knew it was so fake even he would see it. When she reached the fountain, he let himself fall from the stone and joined her.

"What is the matter, _Aier_?"

She sighed, glancing into the fair eyes of the Elf. He had always been of good conversation, and she knew through her mother how wise he was. Even if she had never asked such things of him, she needed to have his opinion. "The Lady has shown me things that unsettle me greatly."

Legolas' eyes widened, but after a short moment he nodded. "What has she shown you? If you don't mind..."

"I don't, _mellon-nîn_." She smiled sadly and sat on the edge of the fountain, and he did the same. It could almost be as if they were back in Rivendell and were getting acquainted. Although neither of them was exactly the same as then... "She showed me Erebor's fall..."

"I see..." Legolas glanced down at his own hands, his brow settled in a hard line. "And you would wish to warn your kin and loved ones."

She stared at him in awe, wondering how he could guess her very thoughts, but then she realised it wasn't too hard to guess. She nodded. "I would. But I can't."

He smiled, mirroring her sadness with his own. "It is a hard decision to take, isn't it? To choose between our Quest and the greater good and saving our own blood..."

Baraz gasped. "Have you seen something too?"

He shook his head. "I haven't, but I know what can come to pass on my land. My father...Tauriel...my friends... They could all die in this war, and I'll be far away."

Baraz found her hand reaching for his. She knew it wasn't a gesture that the Elves were fond of, but knew Legolas would not push her away. When his eyes met hers again, her smile was more assured. "Let's make them proud then. If they do die, let it not be in vain."

They remained in silence for a few more moments before Baraz stood to go back to her bed. Her thoughts were more at ease. Her conversation with Legolas had at least told her she was not the only one having hard choices to make. And she had made it.

Hobbits against Dwarves. As it had always been...

* * *

Baraz released another arrow, that embed itself a little too high on the aim. Laughter filled her ears at once and she whirled around, glaring playfully at her teacher for the day, Haldir.

The Elf had offered to teach her the ways of the Elven bow the day prior, and she found that the exercise was soothing her mind. She loved archery, and often noticed how it could calm raging thoughts and heavy hearts where she was concerned.

But the Elven bow was nothing like the dwarven one she had used since infancy. Taller and thinner, it was harder to aim and all the while easier to bend. In fact, it was a fine weapon, which needed to be handled with delicacy.

Everything that a Dwarf lacked.

"_Lle ume quel._" _**You did well.**_ Haldir said as he strode to the other end of the small clearing they had settled in and put her three last arrows out. Two had decided to stick into the trunk of a tree rather than in the straw aim he had brought, which made Baraz' teeth grit.

"_Lle naa nausalle..._" _**You are imagining things...**_

Haldir laughed again, the sound rising like chiming bells, and he handed her the arrows again. "_Amin sinta thaliolle. Tanya farnuva._" _**I know your strength. That will suffice.**_

She sighed. The ever faith of the Elves. Sometimes it bored her. Notching an arrow for the umpteenth time that day, she raised the bow to her face, touching her lips with the string and breathing onto it. Her eye caught the aim and her fingers released.

The arrow was almost at the centre. One inch to the left, but yet much closer than ever before.

Haldir launched a hand in the air as if to tell her she had just to be patient. Which was the case anyway. "_Tura? Lle naa curucuar! Lle dela beika!_" _**See? You are skilled bow-woman! You worry too much!**_

She launched him a playful glanced and bowed the head. "_Diola lle, mellon-nîn._" _**Thank you, my friend.**_

He bowed the head back and took the bow back from her hands. Then his smile filled the air as if chasing away all the clouds in the sky. "_Tula, vasa ar'yulna yassen-nîn._" _**Come, eat and drink with me.**_

And she followed.

* * *

The Fellowship remained in Caras Galadhon for a whole week, mending both physical and mental wounds in the Elves dwellings.

As Baraz learnt the ways of the Elven bow, Aragorn took it upon himself to teach the Hobbits a little further how to use their short-swords. Whereas Merry was, surprisingly, quite good, Pippin and Sam were all but that. And Gimli spent quite a long time rolling onto his back as he mocked the little ones, until Pippin launched himself at the Dwarf and tugged on his beard, something he really hated beyond measure.

As for Frodo and Boromir, they spent their days in a similar way: brooding over whatever ailed them until someone, usually Baraz, came to change their minds. The Hobbit and her talked about the Shire and what they could guess was growing at this time of year; and the Man and her continued their conversations about Minas Tirith and the Men of Numenór.

All in all, it was a quite time. But it was not to last, as all good things...

One evening, the group gathered in what they had begun to think as 'their clearing'. The four Hobbits sat on one bed, feet dangling in the air, as Gimli and Baraz stood beside them, Boromir perching himself on a nearby rock and Legolas and Aragorn taking a spot on the ground. It was the latter who had asked for the gathering, and Baraz had an idea what he wanted to talk about.

"We cannot stay here any longer." he said as his fingers played around his pipe.

Gimli huffed. "We have stayed here a mere week! We can wait!"

The Man shook his head. "The Lord Celeborn has informed me that his scouts have stumbled upon the path of quite a large army marching South."

"South?" said Boromir. They all knew what he was thinking about, but Aragorn merely nodded.

"I do not know where Gandalf wanted to go from here and need your counsel."

Legolas looked up from the arrow he was making. "Gandalf surely wanted us to take a straight path to Mordor."

"I doubt it." said Baraz. She was not staring at anything in particular, but her jaw was set. "If there is something I know about Gandalf, it is that he would not have taken us through the Dead Marches."

There was silence, then Aragorn nodded again, his grey stormy eyes meeting hers. "I agree. He would have taken the River."

"The River will bring us to Minas Tirith," Boromir added on the tone of conversation.

To everyone's surprise, the Ranger looked over at his kin and agreed. "Yes, perhaps it would be better to settle there for a while. The Enemy would not see us coming from that far South."

"But," all eyes went to Frodo, who kept one hand close to his chest, "isn't it dangerous to bring the Ring to Gondor?" His blue eyes fleeted to Boromir for a second, and Baraz tensed.

So her suspicions somewhat were right. The Man was indeed affected by the One Ring, and perhaps had already tried to take it from Frodo's hands...

Aragorn sighed. "Probably not. But it is our best chance."

Silence stretched again. Then Legolas stood, placing the newly-made arrow in the quiver beside his bunk. "Then we have to ask the Lord and Lady for boats."

Aragorn stood as well and nodded again. "Yes. Two might suffice."

"Two!" Baraz huffed. "You seem to forget how many we are, Strider!" He looked at her, the wrinkles at his eyes showing as he broke in a smile at his nickname. "I may be lighter than most of my kin, but Gimli is fully a Dwarf and that is no light burden!"

Gimli took offence. "_Oi!_"

She chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Peace, cousin. I did not mean it badly." Her eyes went back to their leader. "I think we have to ask for as many boats as there are people able to manage them."

"That makes three," he said, "Legolas, Boromir and I."

"Four," said a little voice, and all turned to Merry who had his hand raised. "I am a Brandybuck, and I'd be damned if I let you say I cannot manage a boat!"

Baraz smiled, knowing indeed the pride of some Hobbits when it came to their abilities on water.

Aragorn, too, smiled. "Then it is decided. Four boats. Legolas, will you accompany me?" The Elf nodded, and both strode off the make-shift camp.

After a while, Gimli grunted. "I was only starting to like the place..."

* * *

Celeborn and Galadriel, of course, granted them the boats they asked for. Haldir saw them pack the following day and showed them to the River's shore, a bit away from the home-tree.

Baraz launched one last glance at Caras Galadhon, knowing in her heart she would never see it again and feeling suddenly very sad...

Their guide brought them to shore, where a small terrace had somehow been built on an even part of the bank. There, they found a table filled with food, as well as their two hosts.

A part of the morning was spent eating and drinking and spending time together in quiet conversations. Baraz thought she liked this tradition, if it was one, to share one last meal before parting. More than that, the knowledge that full meals could be scarce not long after made the whole thing quite practical.

At last Celeborn stood and helped his lady up, and then the whole Fellowship stood and followed them towards the four elven boats that had been holstered nearby.

They were things of beauty, carved in white wood and decorated with the elven leaves that Baraz loved so much. Each found two oars inside, as well as a bundle of lambas bread in each.

But their parting from Lothloríen did not go that fast, for their hosts had other things to give them than a pleasant brunch.

* * *

To each member, they handed a cloak made of the purest thread Baraz had ever seen. Galadriel said she had woven them herself with her ladies-in-waiting, and that they would hide them from prying eyes in woodland, grassland or mountains. When Baraz fastened it at her neck, she felt warmer instantly. The beauty of elven gifts...

Followed a silver brooch carved in the shape of a leaf, painted with a deep emerald colour that shone in sunlight. Galadriel clasped it herself on every cloak, and when she reached Baraz, she smiled knowingly. "I thought you ought to have your own..."

Baraz bowed the head in thanks. "_Amin harmuva onalle e'cormanîn._" _**I will treasure your gift in my heart.**_

The Elf-Lady bowed the head back. "Your mother taught you well. May your knowledge of our customs and language help you in the future, Baraz daughter of Ariana."

Some might have said that those two gifts in themselves were more than enough for a departing present. But Lady Galadriel knew better than anyone – literally so – what the Fellowship would face after leaving her lands, so...so it was not over just yet.

Sam was given a good length of rope, magical rope mind you, which made him very happy for he had forgotten to take one from home and had been very unhappy about it for quite some time; Merry and Pippin were given two woven elven belts and daggers to go with it; Frodo was offered a vial containing the light of the Elven Star, Aërendil, to bring him light even in the darkest of places; Aragorn was given a delicately engraved scabbard, to fit a sword he did not have yet; Legolas was offered a bow of the Galadhrim, an honour for a Sylvan-Elf; and Boromir was given a golden bracelet that was said to bring peace to an ill at ease mind.

When the Lady of Light stood in front of Baraz again, she had her head held low, for she had no idea what this powerful woman could ever offer her. When she was handed an elven bow quite similar to the one she had practised on with Haldir and a matching quiver, her lips stretched into a wide smile.

"I was told you are a very skilled archer." Galadriel smiled. "I have asked it to be cut to your size, a little shorter than our own bows. But I think you will appreciate the change."

There were no words to thank her, so Baraz remained silent and tried to convey her thanks through her eyes. She put the bow to her chest in a silent meaning that she would cherish it for years to come.

* * *

At last it was time to depart, and the group settled in the boats in utter silence. Aragorn would sail with Frodo and Sam; Boromir with Pippin; Legolas with Gimli; and Merry with Baraz.

As their embarkations left the shore and their newly-found friends' figures started to fade, Baraz could make one single Elf following them from the bank.

He flew from tree to tree until he found a spot over the River, and when Haldir stepped into the light of day, he bowed deeply and announced "_Aa' i'sul nora lanne'lle!_" _**May the wind fill your sails!**_ Then he disappeared into the woods once more.

From the boat beside hers, Baraz heard the slight chuckle of Legolas before he looked at her with a playful glance and said "I think you have an admirer, _Pernogoth_..." Which of course made Gimli grunt in discontent.

Said discontent was over as soon as Aragorn asked him what the fair Lady had offered him.

* * *

They got down the River in many more days than Baraz would have thought, stopping for the night in some secluded parts of the shore. The current was sometimes slow and peaceful and sometimes harsh and quicker than a winter's breeze, but all the boats managed to stay in one piece and no more than an inch of water found its way into their shelter.

Gimli in particular spent entire days moaning about their current situation, for Dwarves are not fond of sailing at all, safe for short lengths of time, for obvious reasons.

It was night on two weeks later that the Fellowship passed the Argonath, and Baraz thought she had never seen something more beautiful and yet so sad in her entire life.

The two statues stood, unmoving, as tall as a mountain, witnessing the constant humming of water without being able to stop it. The two faces, carved in stones with utter precision, were hard and frightening, yet Aragorn looked upon them in nostalgia. When he announced that they were his ancestors, Kings of the blood of Numenór, Baraz could not help but think that they had fallen into the world.

For there wasn't another place in Middle-Earth where she had felt that sad...

* * *

They stopped for the night a little further down the river. Aragorn said that the following day they'd leave the Great River altogether, for the falls of Rauros lay nearby. But for the time being, he only wanted to rest. His companions agreed. Especially Gimli.

Baraz helped Sam get his cauldron and things out to prepare supper. Merry and Pippin offered to peel the last potatoes while Legolas filled the cauldron with water. Boromir went out in search for firewood, and Aragorn surveyed the horizon, his keen eyes not missing one thing.

Except perhaps the leave of one Hobbit...

Gimli was knee-deep in a big tale about how, at only twenty, he had managed to tame a wild boar, as Sam and Baraz prepared a stew, when a great blow of horn froze the whole group.

Heads lifted into the air, and eyes widened in fear.

Aragorn flew to his friends and unsheathed his sword, eyes going to where Boromir had laid out his shield at once. "Where is Boromir?"

But there was no mistaking the sound of the Horn of Gondor. Boromir was in danger.

Legolas picked up his bow and notched an arrow as Gimli stood, his beloved axe firmly held in his sturdy hands.

And when a small voice spoke up his own fears, Baraz' worry only doubled in intensity.

"Where is Master Frodo?"

Eyes turned to Sam, then frantically searched around the camp to find the Ring-bearer. When it was being clear that he, too, had gone wondering into the woods, Aragorn cursed and launched himself into the forest, launching a clear "Protect the Halflings!" to Baraz before Legolas and Gimli ran after him.

Baraz stood, frozen to place, for a good minute before she shook off her thoughts and looked over at the three younglings. She gestured towards a close boulder. "Hide! Quick!"

Merry readjusted Pippin's cloak to make sure he was hidden by the stone, and peaked over the boulder. Baraz shooed him off, and silence fell on the scene.

Picking up her new bow, Baraz notched and, deciding not to give their enemy any chance to find her precious cargo, she shifted to where the boats lay. With any chance, her foes would think she was protecting them instead of the stone her three friends were hidden behind.

Minutes stretched painfully, and then, at last, a lone form appeared on top of the slope facing Baraz.

Lifting her bow higher, she cursed in Khuzdûl, something she did not do often because of how dooming it sounded. "_Caragu rukhs!_"_** Orc scum!**_


	16. 15, The breaking of the Fellowship

_A/N: Aaaaand hello back everyone! I won't be long, because this is an epic chapter ahead and one of my overall favourites in this fic so far. Not because of its ending (we all know who won't make it); but because it's probably the first time in my writing "career" that I had fun writing action scenes. :D_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_The fighting Uruk-Hai part 1 and part 2 from the Fellowship of the Ring OST; May it be from the FOTR OST._

* * *

**15\. The breaking of the Fellowship**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**February**_

* * *

"_Caragu rukh!_" _**Orc scum!**_

The creature let out a croaking shout, and soon, five or six others climbed the slope and ran down towards her, their limbs making their advance somewhat comical to watch.

Baraz did not leave them time to reach her position, and released her first arrow. She quietly cursed when, instead of striking the Orc in the eye, it embedded itself in its neck, but at least, it fell dead onto the forest ground, not too far from Boromir's shield.

When her eyes fell to it, Baraz felt dread run through her veins like ice. How long had she been waiting for the Orcs to come? What had happened to Aragorn and the others? And Frodo, what had become of him?

She did not have time to find an answer, for two other Orcs had reached her. Her arrow was not strong enough and bounced on one's breast-plate, making it cackle in glee. It stopped in a gurgle when her blade entered its flesh in the temple. Baraz whirled around, freeing her blade in a swoosh and launching it at the other Orc, which tried to dodge but failed. It fell in a cry of pain, nursing the open gash in its neck. A few seconds later, it was dead.

The rest of the scum – four of them, actually – stopped for a moment. Their leader – somehow – fixed its reddish eyes on her and cursed in its foul language. She could not understand a thing, except perhaps one word, "_Arguman_", that made her wonder if it wasn't demanding of her the location of the 'Halflings'.

A snarl appeared on her lips as she boldly notched another arrow. "Come and get them, scum!"

The Orc snarled right back, and gestured at the others, cracking in an order that made all three ran her way.

The first arrow found the first Orc's eye, as she intended. The second arrow was deflected by the second Orc. The third arrow found right in between its eyes.

But she had been careless and too slow, two features that Legolas, had he been there, would have taken a sick pleasure in replaying to her time and time again. The last Orc reached her and she did not have time to renotch. The scum barrelled into her and sent her flying against a tree, hard, where she could do little but watch as it advanced on her quickly, a sickly cut blade in its hand.

It never reached her, or had time to raise its hand, for two little forms attacked it from behind and assaulted it, two little blades finding its flesh at the neck. Two little voices that yelled at the top of their lungs.

Baraz did not have time to shout after them that Merry and Pippin had already gone the other way, chasing after the Orc 'leader' who, she was certain, was going back to its true leader to report the Hobbits' whereabouts.

"Curse the courage of Halflings" she croaked as she stood. Quickly assessing the back of her head – she was not bleeding – she picked up her bow and quiver and ran after the three terrors. For there was no doubt in her mind that Sam had gone as well, in search for his beloved Frodo.

* * *

The forest was not quiet as she reached the top of the slope, slope that had somehow muted the sounds of battle nearby. Notching an arrow in case, Baraz hurried over branches and fallen trunks towards the commotion, hoping to Mahal that she did not find her friends hurt in any way, or worse.

She convinced herself that, if commotion there was, then at least one was still standing. And, knowing her friends like she did, there was, in fact, no doubt that Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas still stood. They were the most fearsome warriors she knew.

At last she reached the top of another slope, and her eyes found the fight below at once. All three of her companions were combating a swarm of Orcs, not stopping one second. Aragorn's sword flew from foe to foe, seemingly having a life of its own; Legolas alternated between arrows and daggers, his brown hair flying behind him in a deadly curtain; and Gimli's axe was, with less grace but equal deadly efficiency, opening a path towards their obvious aim, the entrance of ruins nearby.

Baraz contemplated helping her friends or hurrying forward alone. If the first, she could harm her allies with any sudden movement; if the second, she could get ambushed without any possibility to get out alive.

She was pondering taking a risk when a flash of brown to her left caught her attention. She gasped, her lips opening slightly, when she recognized Frodo's mop of hair as he ran from tree to tree, his elven cloak flying behind him. He was not followed, but she could see he was intent on fleeing all the same. And his feet were bringing back the way she had come.

Baraz understood at once. Perhaps she had suspected he would do such a thing, perhaps she only knew him well enough, but in any case, she could not let him leave them. Not alone, and not like that.

Launching one last look over her shoulder – Gimli was yelling a good Dwarvish cry of battle while thundering hell over his foes – she followed Frodo. Although she wished she could call after him, doing so would be foolish and would only attract unwanted attention. So she followed in silence, her red hair forming a wisp of fire in her wake.

* * *

When she reached the camp, and the many Orc corpses scattered around, Frodo was frantically scurrying through a boat, launching a bag, then two, inside it. He was in a hurry, there was no denying it.

Baraz put back her arrow in her quiver, but kept her long dagger close, just in case.

"Are you leaving without saying goodbye?"

Frodo jumped and whirled around, his hand closing around Sting's hilt and drawing the blade out a little. It still glowed a faint blue, but it wasn't harsh enough a hue to consider Orc were close. Upon seeing her, the Halfling sighed. "I have to."

Baraz shook her head. "No, you don't. You could wait until you are safe and speak this through."

"If I did that," his blue eyes locked onto her with a sad intensity, "you would never let me go, any of you."

Baraz' mouth turned into a sad smile. "Perhaps that is true," she advanced on him, kneeling on the ground when she reached him, "but that is because we love you."

Frodo looked at her, and in his gaze she could see the Hobbitling she had grown so fond of and had grown up with. But she could also see a man, a grown-up man, who had seen far too violent things in his still young years, and who was plagued by it.

Her hand closed on his, and to her surprise, he clung to her in response. "Frodo... I have promised to keep you safe."

He sighed again, but a small knowing smile formed on his lips. "You have always thought me unable to protect myself, _Poppy_..." The nickname, that she had not heard in such a long time, made a tear run along her cheek. "But I am not helpless. I have seen and done things that no other Hobbit has ever done. Not even my uncle."

"But if you leave us, if you go alone...you will surely die. I cannot bear the thought of you dying, Frodo." She paused, a sob escaping her, one she had tried to swallow. "You are my brother."

"And _you_ are my sister," he answered without missing a beat, "but that does not mean that what we are here to do isn't grander than our own fears." He smiled again, this time looking far older than he was, perhaps even older than _she_ was. "You have to let me go."

In his words, there was far more meaning than the sole demand to let him leave the group. He was asking her to let go of the constant worry that nagged at her every time she thought about his burden, and about how she could not help him lift it.

Time froze, and at last, Baraz nodded. "I can see I cannot change your mind. But at least, let me come with you."

He had expected it of her, she was certain, but as soon as she began to speak, he shook his head. "No, Baraz." He continued, seeing she was about to counter. "Merry and Pippin. And Sam. They need you. You have vouched to protect all of us, not only me. Protect them. For me."

There was nothing she could say to that.

So she nodded.

And let the tears run freely down her cheeks.

After a long moment, she draw him into a hug he returned eagerly.

"Come back to us unscathed, brother."

"I will try. Sister."

And so, Frodo Baggins untangled himself from Baraz' arms and grabbed a bedroll, throwing it inside a boat he then pushed off the shoreline.

Baraz stood and watched him go, and before he could turn to look at her one last time, she whirled around and decided to leave the scene. Otherwise she was certain she would go after him and break her promise.

But when a little storm of sandy-blonde hair passed her on her way up the slope, shouting a wild "Master Frodo!", she smiled to herself, knowing that Frodo would not, in fact, be unprotected.

Sam would be there.

* * *

Baraz had much more trouble finding her companions after her long discussion with Frodo. She could not hear any commotion translating a battle nearby, and had to work through memory to find herself back up the slope she had seen Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli fight before.

They were not there anymore, of course, having left a wake of bloodied corpses behind them. No trace of dead Hobbit though, which was a good sign.

She decided that they had most certainly gone towards the ruins the Orcs had been blocking earlier, and she ran down the slope as swiftly and silently as she could. It appeared to be a watchtower of some sort, old and battered by time and wind. Some stones had been smoothed out, as if millennia had passed since they had fallen from the construction.

Baraz climbed a flight of stairs, and sighed in relief when she caught Aragorn's voice in the wind, not far. She could a good portion of the forest from there, as well as a part of the river nearby. But what she saw next had her heart stop beating.

Her companions were there, gathered all together next to a tree. A greater number of Orcs lay near, all piled on top of one another as if slain by one hand only. Aragorn was smoothing words as he crouched over a still form.

_Boromir._

Baraz let out a squeal of pain, and her cry was caught by Legolas' keen ears. The Elf said one word to Aragorn, and the Ranger caught her looking at them, his figure relaxing one notch as he noticed she was unhurt.

Legolas reached her swiftly, and while her eyes were forever glued to the dead body of their friend, her hands gripped at him for dear life. He let her, and while she did not sob, tears ran freely down her cheeks.

* * *

Time passed before Baraz could calm down. When she did, Legolas helped her down the stairs and towards their small group.

That is when she realised something.

"Where are Merry and Pippin?" she managed to croak.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a pained look, and the Man turned to her, grey eyes full of worry and sorrow. "They were taken. Boromir died protecting them."

Baraz let out another cry, this time of anguish and anger.

She had failed them again. Once more failing to work through her promise to keep the young ones safe. Lashing out, she kicked in a dead Orc's body, making it twitch a little, and her growls resembled the Dwarves' so closely that Gimli was the one to place a soothing hand on her shoulder.

"We will find them."

She met his dark eyes, her own set with grave intensity. "Can you _promise_ that? Because all the oaths I have taken, I failed. _Can you_ promise we will save them from whatever fate befalls them?"

Aragorn answered her, his grave voice laced with dooming wisdom. "_I_ can." Her eyes met his. "_I_ _can_."

It sufficed. She nodded once, wiped angrily at her cheeks, and walked to where Boromir lay. Stooping down, she placed a shaky kiss on the Man's brow.

"You were the bravest Man I have ever known, Boromir of Gondor. May you rest in peace."

* * *

Aragorn and Legolas took upon themselves to carry Boromir's body back to their camp. Eyes were cast down, the air was filled with sadness and grief, and none spoke.

Not until they reached camp, and Gimli noticed the absence of a boat, and of two of their other companions.

"Where are they?" he asked.

Aragorn met Baraz' eyes, and nodded. "They left." She nodded back. "You saw them off."

"I tried to stop him, but he would not listen." her voice broke. "He made me promise to look after his cousins."

"You have not failed them, Baraz." the future King of Gondor said. He was reflecting so much trust in her at that moment that she forgot her fears and pain. When she met his eyes, he was certain of his words. "You have not failed them."

Legolas set Boromir down, and looked at her as well. "And we will find them."

And with those certainties, Baraz knew. She was not alone.

* * *

_A/N: And here ends the Fellowship of the Ring, both literally and literarily, since the book ended at the beginning of the chapter. Next chapter, the chase for the Uruk-Hai begins. And soon...soon...Erebor will call upon us once more. ;)_


	17. 16, The search

_A/N: The next chapter is on. It's shorter, and I apologize for that, but I promise it's only because I wanted to stop at the border of Fangorn and not go right in at the end of this. Next chapter is much more important. ;)_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

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**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Foundations of stone and The Leave Taking from The Two Towers OST._

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**16\. The search**

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_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**February**_

* * *

Boromir was lain in his last home, one of the elven boats, and let drifting on the river, as his three friends watched on, saying words of parting that brought tears to their eyes and determination to their hearts.

When the boat and its cargo disappeared from view, Aragorn turned to his companions, his grey eyes set in a hard look. "Gather what you can, but only what won't impede us. We need to leave now."

None questioned his orders. It was certain that the Orcs, and Uruks, had taken a non-negligeable advance on them, and they would surely not stop for food or rest until they reached their destination.

Destination which Baraz hoped to all the stars was not Mordor.

She grabbed a pack, looked inside, and decided to pocket lambas bread in her cloak instead of taking the bag with her. It would prove heavy with time, and she did not wish that.

While she and Aragorn went through the abandoned cutlery and supplies, Legolas and Gimli took care of the Orcs' bodies, placing them in a pile away from the camp, where their stench could not bother them.

The Elf took his time picking Baraz' arrows up, and when he walked to her to give them back, a smirk appeared on his lips. "Your aim has improved."

She rolled her eyes and put the arrows back in her quiver, knowing she did not have to study them. He would not have given her back broken arrows or dull ones.

When at last they left their camp, Baraz felt her heart drop in her chest. Her eyes searched for the hidden form of a boat on the opposite shore, and she said her silent farewell to many friends. Some she would never see again.

* * *

First they went back to where Boromir had fallen, where Aragorn could pick up the Orcs' trail. Not far off, they found Merry and Pippin's elven daggers, and the Ranger took them with him to give back when – and not if – they found their friends.

And then he sprang forward at great speed, leaving his three companions to follow restlessly.

It was not that hard, at first, to follow the Man's great and hurried strides. Baraz was half-Dwarf, after all, and her father's kin was known for its endurance. But after hours and hours of running, and no time to rest, she felt her legs begin to weaken.

Gimli too had some trouble following, but the two of them kept marching on, pulling each other forward, while Legolas and Aragorn showed no sign of fatigue at all.

They got out of the forest during the night, and erupted in a sea of grass that Aragorn said was Rohan. The land of the horse-lords. Then he carried on.

The night ended, bringing a new day forth, and then that new day brought forth another, and another still. For days and nights they ran, not resting one minute, until, at last, Aragorn picked up their foe's trail.

"They have not more than a day ahead of us."

Legolas nodded with a small smile. "We are catching up on them."

The Man nodded, and glanced at Baraz and Gimli, both looking as if they were about to drop dead any second. "Let us rest for an hour. No more."

She let herself fall back onto her bottom, sighing in relief when her aching feet were no longer touching the ground. The Elf chuckled at her and Gimli's antics, but did not voice his mockery, for he too was weary and tired, even if he didn't show.

At least Baraz knew now that all that running had not been in vain. Merry and Pippin were not far.

* * *

A little after their rest, the group of four descended onto the plain through a path made by fallen boulders. It was there that Legolas' keen eyes fell on the glitter of a brooch.

A brooch that belonged to Pippin, as Aragorn soon realised. His footprints were larger than an Orc's, but smaller than the rest of his kin. He had let the brooch fall for them to find.

He, at least, was alive.

Baraz could not help but let out a happy cry of relief when the Ranger handed her the brooch for safe-keeping. Her fingers played over the leaf and she closed her eyes, thanking Mahal that her precious friend was not harmed. At least, not to the extent where he could not think straight or walk.

"Aragorn, they are taking them to Isengard." Legolas suddenly said, his eyes on the horizon.

Aragorn nodded without looking. "Yes, I have known for some time now. But they seem unsure as to where to cross. Fangorn, or the Entwash."

Gimli grumbled. "Surely they will not go near that accursed forest!"

"I fear we can not know, dear friend." the Man said. "Come, we have stopped long enough." And he started again.

Baraz passed Gimli and, with a dark chuckle, she patted his shoulder. And followed.

* * *

The following day, they reached a stony slope from which they could see the immensity of the realm they had entered. The sea of grass ran ever on and on, to the point where Baraz wondered if it ever ended.

But then and there, their run stopped. For before them, a company of riders was galloping their way.

"Quick hide!" Aragorn hissed, and all four crawled behind a boulder while the hooves thundered around, followed by a mist of dust before the riders appeared.

Baraz' eyes only had time to notice how numerous they were before Aragorn suddenly stood and, just as the column passed, bellowed a clear "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?".

The riders made their horses turn around as quickly as was possible, and soon, the company of four was surrounded by them as they circled on and on, their spears held aloft and into their faces.

They were all blonde, Baraz noticed. Not all men, either, for the unmistakeable curves of women could be spotted on one or two riders. But they looked fearsome to behold, and Baraz did not like to be impressed in such a way.

When the circling stopped, one man made his horse step forward, brown eyes studying the four before he spoke. "Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" he asked in a deep, commanding voice.

Aragorn raised a hand in peace-making. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and here is Legolas Thranduilion, from the Wooden Realm, and Baraz and Gimli, from the Lonely Mountain."

The man looked at them all intently, his eyes lingering on Baraz a second longer. "What business do a Man, an Elf and two Dwarves have in the Riddermark?"

"We are hunting Orcs."

The rider seemed surprised to hear that, and studied them for a moment longer before he jumped off his saddle effortlessly and took off his helmet. His blonde hair, although tangled after days of riding, flowed to the middle of his back. "I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark."

Aragorn bowed the head in deference. "Well met."

The other man nodded back, then his eyes fell on Baraz again, and a smirk appeared on his lips. "If you are indeed hunting Orcs, you are doing a poor job at it. They were swift, and far away, when we caught up with them."

Baraz' eyes widened and she found herself taking a pace forward. "Have you seen Hobbits with them?" Upon seeing Eomer's brown eyes widen in confusion, she added, "Halfling. Not taller than children in your eyes."

Eomer shook his head sadly. "We killed many last night. But none were Halflings."

Dread pooled in Baraz' chest, and she found herself despairing.

Merry. Pippin. Sweet, young Pippin. Where were they?

"Where have you fought them?" Aragorn asked, his grey eyes on Baraz as if he had understood her inner turmoil.

"On the edge of Fangorn forest," said Eomer, "you can still see the fire burning from here." He pointed at the horizon, where a thin line of smoke rose into the clear sky. "But you will need steeds to run faster, my friends." He whistled, and two horses sprang from the group, rider-less. "May these horses serve you better than their rider did them."

One was as white as snow, with freckles of grey dotted over its coat; the other was a deep chestnut colour, and it is to him that Aragorn walked first, cooing the horse into trusting his gentle touch. "What are their names?"

Eomer seemed surprised he was asking such things – for, in truth, not many people in Middle-Earth cared about the names of horses and such – but answered nonetheless. "Arod. And Hasufel."

Aragorn nodded his thanks. "We are indebted to you."

Eomer shook his head and went back to climb onto his saddle. "These are dark days, and who are we not to help people in need?" With that he sat straighter, and launched a clear "May the wind follow your path!" before he and his men rode away in a thunder of hooves and a cloud of dust.

* * *

Gimli proved to hate horse-riding, as he cursed without end behind Legolas on their way North. Baraz rolled her eyes at her almost-cousin's stubbornness, since she herself was quite content for the beast carrying her and Aragorn away, and quicker than her own two feet. She had, yes, to hold on for dear life on her friend to make sure she did not fall in their wake, but it was a welcome change from the days and nights of endless run.

Soon they could see a line of darker green amidst the clearer green of grass. Fangorn Forest appeared on the horizon, then stretched as they got nearer. The smoke, too, was clearer, and when they reached it, the pyre was still burning high.

Baraz' nose turned upright at the sight of the Orcs' bodies, scorched and cracking as the fire ate at them. The stench was unbelievably foul, and the sight of head on pikes did nothing to soothe the sight.

At first, it was almost sure that Merry and Pippin had indeed perished. Their elven belts were found in the fire, and Aragorn could not retain a cry of anguish as he thought their friends to be gone.

But then, a flicker of hope appeared, in the form of a piece of rope that had been sown away.

* * *

Aragorn, ever the Ranger, soon understood that one Halfling had managed to free himself from the bounds, had crawled to his companion, and had freed him as well, their swift feet bringing them straight to...

"Fangorn Forest." Gimli uttered, with a pinch of fatality.

Legolas nodded. "It seems the Hobbits have fled that way. What are we to do?" he asked Aragorn.

"We follow them." He paused. "But not tonight. There are tales of this place, and I do not want to enter its depths in the dark of night. Let us rest first. They are not far now."

Baraz stared after him for a long moment before anyone could pry her off her stance.

She was staring at the woods before her, a smile of awe on her lips. They were not far.


	18. 17, The White Wizard

_A/N: Hi there! The next chapter is here! And it is the last one we spend in the timeline of LOTR. After that, it's completely AU again, since Baraz leaves the Fellowship to go...somewhere. ;) Read on and you'll know!_

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**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Fangorn and Gandalf the White from the The Two Towers OST._

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**17\. The White Wizard**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**1st March**_

* * *

Baraz found that sleep eluded her that night. Some of it, of course, was due to the anticipation at finding the young Hobbits; but most of it was due to the forest itself. They had settled their makeshift camp far from the pyres, but still close enough to the edge of the woods for long branches to loom over them. And Baraz could swear that some of those branches had not been over their heads when they settled for the night.

Gimli was fast asleep, and if the grumbles he uttered in Khuzdûl was any indication, he was dreaming of home. Legolas too was resting, although with his back to her, she could not tell if he was truly sleeping. But she guessed that a Woodland Elf would not be as weary of a forest as she would.

In fact, the only other person who was surely not sleeping was Aragorn, who had unsurprisingly taken upon himself to watch. Baraz caught his eye and she pointedly glanced at the branch moving above her head, lulled by an inconsistent breeze. The Man nodded, but signified her with a gentle wave of hand that they were safe.

If safe meant that she could worry all night about being choked to death by a deadly branch.

How Mirkwood seemed like a good alternative right then...

* * *

When dawn arose, all the camp was already up and ready to leave. They had eaten a bit of lembas bread way before the birds started chirping, and when the sky took on a rosish tint, the packs were all done and the cloaks were all fastened tightly.

Baraz surprised herself by toying with her pendant. She had almost forgotten its existence these last few days, or even weeks, and was suddenly reminded of her mother and of her tales when she was younger. She was also reminded of where she had heard those stories: in front of a good fire, in their Hobbit-hole, her father humming a tune in the room beyond her own.

It felt so far away by then. Almost as if all of that had been nothing but a dream. Since then, she had known loss too many times to count, had battled foul creatures, had almost frozen to death, and had run for days without stopping.

Was she even still Baraz?

"_Aier, tula, asca!_" _**Short-One, come, hurry!**_ came Legolas' command, and the sudden use of Sindarin shook her off her thoughts at once. She realised that Aragorn and Gimli had already disappeared into the thicket of trees and that the Elf had waited for her.

She placed the ring back inside her tunic, and followed.

* * *

It was like stepping back into the night. Baraz' eyes had some trouble adjusting to the lack of light, and she had to wait for a moment, eyes dancing around to search for even the smallest indication of sun rays. She found none.

Mirkwood was a thick forest, and sometimes, during the night, you could not see anything aside from your own nose. But this was entirely different, because it was daytime outside of the forest, and yet, the whole place seemed swallowed in the night. No birds were chanting inside the trees, no grass grew on the hard ground. If the leaves on the trees had not been green, she would have thought herself in a dead forest.

When her eyes got somehow used to the darkness, Baraz spotted Legolas nearby, a mix between a frown and amazement on his face as he took in his surroundings. He looked at though he felt privileged to be in Fangorn, even if he also seemed repulsed by it. She strolled to him and shook him off his contemplation, and they hurried forward.

In such a place, it was not hard to heard the footsteps of you companions, even if they were already ten good yards in front of you. Baraz and her elvish companion reached Gimli's and Aragorn's side quite quickly, but the Man was not really happy. The sound they made, he said, was masking the sounds of anything else. He asked for silence, and so, the group froze.

The Ranger studied the trees ahead for a long moment, trying, perhaps, to see something or someone in the surrounding darkness. At one point, his grey eyes froze on a spot, and a look passed over him, soon replaced by confusion.

"A man was there." he said.

Gimli automatically raised his axe. "A man, you say? Where?"

Aragorn placed a soothing hand on his friend's shoulder. "He is gone. Perhaps he never was there. He wore a long grey cloak and looked to be very old. But he disappeared as quickly as he appeared."

"And yet, shall we not follow?" Legolas said, eyes trailed in that direction too. "Maybe the forest itself is sending us an emissary to follow!"

Baraz could understand his point. But she deemed it unlikely that Fangorn Forest would send a _Man_ as an emissary. Creatures of woods were Sylvan-Elves, not sons of Beren and Lúthien.

"We shall follow. But not too far, in case it is a trap that bring us far from our friends." Aragorn then started forward, and his companions followed, this time trying to make as little noise as could be on the dry soil. Even Legolas could not help but make twigs snap under his feet, which was peculiar enough to be reported.

A little further than where the mysterious man had stood, Aragorn found a small stream, no doubt that came out of the woods to die in the Entwash beyond. There he found clear traces of two Hobbits who had sat on the edge, perhaps to bathe their feet, and then who had gone their way.

"The marks are two days old already," he said, "but at least we know they were alive and well."

Baraz felt a light feeling buzz in her veins, almost akin to butterflies. It was agreeable after so long in the dark. For all she knew, it could be night outside by then. Time had no relevance in a place like this. It could have been days already that they had entered Fangorn, and yet, even if it was a tense place and the air felt thick, she felt no fatigue.

"Let's carry on. We can maybe catch up on them. They surely are not expecting to be followed." Aragorn's words burst Baraz' little bubble, and she suddenly felt sadder. Merry and Pippin did not know for sure that they were looking for them. Pippin had left them his brooch to find, but for all he knew, they'd never find it. For all he knew, they could have given up on them and abandoned them.

A rage seeped through her bones as she hurried along her friends. She had made a promise, and she'd keep it.

* * *

Aragorn found a couple of other little marks along their way: where one Hobbit had sat on a log while the other kept watch; and where they had all curled under a gnarled tree to rest. But then, as they reached the bottom of a very high rock – higher, no doubt, that the trees themselves – the trail came to an end.

The crushed body of an Orc lay under the rock, strange marks scarring the ground around him, and Baraz could not help but stare. Surely the Halflings could not have done that themselves. It was too horrid, and too...peculiar, to be their doing.

"I cannot see anything now." Aragorn said, a lilt of deception in his voice. He was crouching next to two sets of clear Hobbit feet in the dirt. "It is as if they both grew wings and flew from here."

"Flew?" Baraz enquired as she eyed the traces too. It was too far from the rock for them to have climbed, and indeed, it looked as if they had vanished out of thin air. The worry and pain was back in her stomach before she could proceed the implications.

"Enough of that," hissed Gimli, "the ragged old man is near upon us!"

At his words Aragorn stood straighter, a hand trailed on the hilt of his sword as Legolas tensed his bow without notching an arrow. Baraz did notch, but mostly because she didn't have the speed of the Elf to reach in her quiver. Surely as she could see – the rock was piercing a patch of sunlight through – she could see the tall form of a man approaching. He was old, no doubt, for he leaned heavily on a white wooden stick, and she could see the edge of a long white beard from under the hood he wore.

Aragorn stood in front of his friends. "Who are you?" he asked in a clear voice.

The old man did not stop. "I wish to speak to you. Please, Master Elf, lay down your bow. You too, Half-Dwarf. I mean no harm." Baraz wondered how he could know what she was since his eyes were not visible, but by the time she finished thinking it, the stranger stood before them, tall and yet bent, bare-footed and clad in an old and torn grey cloak.

Aragorn spoke again. "May we know what your name is, and then what you wish to tell us?"

"I would tell you my name, but I do not recall it. As for what I have to say: your errand is not as urgent as it once was. Your friends are safe now, and away."

Gimli then sprang forward, his axe firmly held in his two sturdy hands. "Tell us now, how do you know of our friends? Where are they?"

The old man paused, as if looking at the Dwarf, and then his hand moved to his hood and he pushed it back completely, revealing the long pure white robes he wore underneath. It shone so brightly that his face was still hidden.

"Saruman, it is Saruman!" Gimli leaped forward and threw his axe towards the man, but it was cast aside easily. Aragorn gripped his sword, but the hilt became too hot to handle. Legolas and Baraz both released arrows, but they burst into flames.

Then the light subdued around the old man, and his face became visible, urging a gasp out of everyone's lips.

* * *

"Gandalf..." uttered Aragorn.

And it was him, their old friend, their immovable old friend. The one who had fallen and who had been lost to the fire. Baraz felt an immense wave of happiness wash over her, before it was swiftly replaced by confusion.

"But...how?" she croaked.

The wizard looked at her and a soft smile appeared on his lips. "Baraz. Or Poppy. I do not recall which one is the right one. I remember your face as an infant. Always happy, always adventurous. What has become of you, child?" She did not answer. There was no need for an answer.

"Gandalf," repeated Aragorn, "how can you be alive?"

"Oh, I died," he answered, "I died. But then I lived again, anew and with a new purpose. See, our dwarven friend was right: I _am_ Saruman. Or rather, I am Saruman as he should have been." He paused and stood straighter, his staff held high. "I am Gandalf the White."

After that the group sat on the forest ground, lit by the sun ray that passed near the rock, and Gandalf asked to hear their tale since their parting in Moria.

Aragorn provided the story, as he knew most of it. The only thing he did not know, was how Frodo had left. But that, Baraz did not provide. She only said that she knew that Sam had gone with him, and Gandalf seemed almost happy at the news.

It took them a all while to recall their tales, and as Gandalf ended his own, Gimli enquired on Merry and Pippin.

"Have you seen them?" he asked.

"I have not," the wizard answered, but before they could despair, he added, "but I know what came of them." He glanced to the rock. "Here they met a shepherd of trees. An Ent. His name is Treebeard."

Legolas gasped in delight. "An Ent! I thought they were long extinct!"

"And they almost are, my dear friend, and it is a grave and sad thing indeed. But what is important is, your friends are safe with him. He will bring them home."

_Home. _Baraz' thoughts flew to a hill with soft grass covering it and a round green door opening on a warm hall filled with the voice of her uncle as he welcomed her. Home. How far away it seemed...

"What would you have us do, then, Gandalf?" asked Aragorn, and in his voice, his companions could hear that he had surrendered the leadership of their company to his old friend. And that, maybe, just maybe, he was lifting a great weight off his own shoulders.

Gandalf glanced at the Man next to him, then sighed. "The Darkness is upon us all, now. I would go to Edoras first. Saruman's influence on the King of Rohan has lasted long enough, and I would not have it last any longer!" He stood, followed by all of them. "Come now, let's find your horses."

* * *

They returned to the edge of the woods much swifter than they had previously. Gandalf led on as easily as if he had lived in Fangorn for many years. None spoke again, but a certain peace had settled upon the group, as if meeting with the wise wizard again had given them back the hope they lacked since Boromir had fallen.

The trees themselves seemed to accept them better. Their branches didn't loom so threateningly over the path, and let some light pass through so that they could see where they were going more easily. Still, it took them the rest of the day and part of the night to reach their destination.

There they rested for a few hours, Gandalf watching over them as Aragorn rested perhaps for the first time in weeks. For the first time since they had left the dwellings of the Lady of Lórien.

Dawn arose calmly and peacefully, the sun eating away at the darkness that wanted to settle over the world, and when Baraz rose from her dreamless slumber, she saw that Gandalf was standing away from the group, eyes trailed on the North.

They had erupted from the Forest further North than where they had entered, so that the pyre was no longer visible, and their horses far behind. And yet the wizard looked on, stormy eyes locked onto the horizon as in a silent prayer.

Gimli was barely groaning away the tiredness in his bones when Gandalf let out a deafening whistle, one of those that seep through your bones and call to your very marrow. It flew through the air, carried by no wind at all, and its echo remained for long seconds still before a form appeared on the horizon.

"Horses!" said Legolas, who could see clearer than any of them. "Three of them. I can see our friends Arod and Hasufel, but also a horse the likes of which I have never seen."

"Nor will you ever," said Gandalf with a small smile. "He is Shadowfax, lord of the Mearas, and he will be my companion for the battles ahead." Baraz followed as the three shapes took on the form of horses, and as they grew closer, she noticed how the first looked bigger than any horse she had ever set eyes upon. He was of a pure silver colour, with a mane as white as snow. He was magnificent.

The horses reached them and Arod immediately came to rest by Aragorn's side, the Man patting the beast's nose affectionately. Shadowfax rested near Gandalf, two dark and intelligent eyes settling on the company before him.

"There there, old friend," the wizard cooed, "here are some of the bravest folk you will ever meet."

Then he turned to Baraz, stormy eyes piercing her very soul, and she felt suddenly very cold.

* * *

"Baraz, my dear girl," he began, "this is where we part."

She dared not speak, because his eyes were seeing through her as through an open book. But Legolas spoke up. "Why should she leave us, Mithrandir?"

"Because her fate lies not with us, but with her own people."

At that she felt herself cringe. "I promised, Gandalf."

"And you kept your promise, young one." He soothed, eyes softening. "Merry and Pippin are safe now. The people of Erebor and Dale are not. I know what you have seen in the Lady's Mirror."

Someone gasped behind her but she ignored him, rather feeling another kind of weight settle upon her shoulders to replace the Halfling's protection. "I have to warn them."

"You have to do more than that, Baraz, daughter of Ariana." Gandalf moved to her, a smile shadowing his old self forming on his lips as he touched her shoulder as lightly as a feather. "You have to guide them. To save them from themselves."

She understood many things in his words. That the Dwarves of Erebor had to be saved from their prejudice towards the Men of Dale; that the same Men of Dale had to be saved from their own naivety towards the Enemy; that she had to overcome her own fear of being rejected to do what needed to be done.

So she nodded gravely and fastened the cloak at her throat. "I will part from you then, old friend. But how can I reach my homeland from here? I may be weeks away!"

"It is not so." he answered simply, and a shadow that had somehow appeared in the sky descended onto them, taking the shape of a massive bird, an Eagle.

* * *

Ariana had told her daughter all she knew about the Eagles. How their feathers shone like gold under the sun; how their golden eyes looked like pools of wisdom and history. But this particular Eagle was even more than that. The brown feathers on top of its head formed the ironic shape of a crown, and some of the duvet around its ears shone blue in the light of day. Or perhaps violet. Or pink. Anyway, it shone brighter and more beautifully than anything she had seen before.

"This is Gwaihir, King of the Eagles, an old friend. He carried your mother on her journey back home."

Baraz walked to the majestic bird tentatively, and touched its neck carefully. One big golden eyes met her own blue ones, and its inclined the head as in greetings. Knowing their partiality to the elven language, she whispered, "_Saesa omentien lle, Heru en sulie._" _**Pleasure meeting you, Lord of winds.**_

It blinked, and she knew she was accepted.

She turned to her companions, the moment to part having been brought upon her. First, Baraz walked to Aragorn and embraced him tightly. He didn't not close his arms around her, but she felt his lean figure relax under her, and as she looked back at him, she smiled. "You will be a wonderful leader, Aragorn son of Arathorn. And I have been blessed to know you."

"Likewise, little one." He smiled.

She turned to Gimli. "Cousin," she smiled, "we will see us in the land of our forefathers. And perhaps you will then consent to let me beat you in a game of ale!"

He boomed in laughter. "Never!"

Her face grew more serious. "_Tak natu yenet, khahay._" _**Until next we meet, kin.**_ His dark eyes widened at her choice of words in their native language, but he nodded the head solemnly and, for once, did not question her calling him 'family'.

When last she turned to Legolas, his brow was set in a frown. Not regarding her, but as if he was deep in thought. She placed a hand over her heart and said, "_Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n'omenta gurtha, mellon-nîn._" _**May the leaves of your life-tree never turn brown, my friend.**_

He looked at her and bowed the head, before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close for a second, as was in fashion with close kin only. It touched her that he was showing such affection for her, but she soon realised it also had another purpose.

For his lips settled next to her ear, and he whispered "_Arda-nîn veriadva lle._" _**My father will help you.**_ before letting her go.

She did not think much of his words, for he knew much more than she did. She bowed the head again and turned to climb on her peculiar mount. Her eyes went to Gandalf and they smiled at each other, before Gwaihir pushed hard on the ground and took flight, knocking the air out of her lungs.

* * *

_A/N: And so Baraz leaves the Fellowship behind and goes back to Erebor to warn her King of the impeding war. See you next time with the return of our King of Frown himself, THRANDUIL! ;)_


	19. 18, The Elvenhalls

_A/N: Hellooooo everyone! So, now that we are officially entering unknown territory, I believe you'll appreciate the tale I've written out for you. Enjoy every moment. This chapter is definitely for Thranduil lovers. As am I._

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Mirkwood; The Woodland Realm; and Feast of Starlight from the Desolation of Smaug OST._

* * *

**18\. The Elvenhalls**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**2nd March**_

* * *

Flying atop a giant Eagle was without doubt the strangest thing that Baraz had ever done in her entire and long life. Flying for one, she thought she would hate it, what with her being half a Dwarf, who were strongly linked to the earth. But it wasn't uncomfortable, even if she guessed it was Gwaihir's doing.

Her mother had once or twice recounted what it had felt like to fly on an Eagle. She had loved every second of it, the wind caressing her face, the ground beneath her, the sense of utter freedom. And to this day, Baraz had not understood her words, or had thought them to be only half true. Now she knew.

Yes, Gwaihir surely had magical powers of his own, because it was almost certain that, at that altitude and at that speed, she should have been battered with winds so strong she could have fallen from her silky perch. Yet she had no troubles hanging at the giant bird's neck. She even felt like she could let go of her hands and would still hold strong. But she was not reckless enough, and kept her eyes tightly shut when she caught a glimpse of the patches of earth below.

Oh. What a surprise. She had vertigo after all...

* * *

Fangorn was rather quickly put behind them and when, about an hour after their departure, Baraz peaked an eye open and saw the unmistakeable green shape of Mirkwood slightly to their left, with the Misty Mountains looming close, she decided it was perhaps time to heed Legolas' words.

So she leaned down and prayed that her voice would carry loud enough for her guide to hear.

"_Heru en sulie, aa' lye aut a'Eryn Lasgalen?_" _**Lord of winds, may we go to Mirkwood?**_

The Eagle tilted its head to the side, its huge golden eye locking on hers, and then it seemingly nodded. A second later, it had changed course, heading towards the forest instead of the sole peak that grew out of the plains to their right.

Baraz felt somehow guilty to leave her home yet again behind. But she knew Legolas' words held some truth: this war was Middle-Earth entire, and old alliances had to be reforged. She knew Thranduil did not like Dwarves at all – Dain's refusal to see the Elvenking ever enter the halls of his fathers proved that it was reciprocated – but she also knew that, despite everything, he had deeply respected her mother, and that, perhaps, was her best argument.

* * *

It took Gwaihir another two hours to reach the Old Road on the North-East of the forest. The Eagle chose an open patch of green grass, not so far from the Lake and the ruins of Esgaroth. Baraz averted her eyes: now was not the right time to glance upon such desolation.

Once she slid onto the soft grass, Baraz turned to her guide and placed a hand just under its eye. "_Diola lle, mellon-nîn. Aa' i'sul nora ravail'lle._" _**Thank you my friend. May the wind fill your wings.**_

Gwaihir blinked slowly and bowed the head, and then pushed so strongly on the ground Baraz was certain his claws would scar the earth; but when the Eagle was already high in the sky, there was no trace of its passage in the grass. Magical indeed.

"I thought my eyes deceived me when I saw you atop the King of Eagles."

Baraz whirled around at the sound of the voice. It was slightly teasing, as it had always been with her, and a wide grin appeared on her lips as she saw Tauriel erupt from the cover of trees, her own smile wide and true. The time was not for hugs anymore, she was too old for that, but she sauntered to her old friend's side and bowed the head, hand on her heart.

"_Nae saian luume, Tauriel._" _**It has been too long.**_

The Elf bowed back. "Well, we are at war, after all."

"That we are, old friend." Baraz took in the shield-maiden's appearance. She was not clad in her usual dark green tunic, but instead in a dark green shirt covered by a dark brown fitting leather corset, and dark brown breeches. Her arms were also protected by leather, and her long flowing red hair had been tamed by a lace. "How fare you?"

"We are like your dear Mountain, young one: under siege." Baraz' eyes flew to the forest, a frown appearing on her features. How could Thranduil be under siege? "The battle will take place at the river bed. The Elvenhalls and land beyond-" she gestured to their surroundings, "-are still void of scum." Then Tauriel's brown eyes turned to Baraz. "But why are you here, daughter of the earth?"

"I came to seek an audience with your king. The hour is grave. Graver than my people think."

Tauriel nodded absent-mindedly. "He may be hard to convince, but I suppose you know that already." She paused and studied Baraz in silence for a moment. Then her eyes took on a certain emotional hue, and she asked "How is Legolas?"

Baraz did not know how her friend had guessed that Legolas was the one who had advised her. But the look in Tauriel's eyes also told her that the two were somewhat closer than she had thought at first. Perhaps the tough Captain of Thranduil's Guard had a soft spot for her Prince after all...

She smiled kindly, placing a hand on Tauriel's shoulder. "Last I saw him, he was well. With his friends. You may not like it, but he and my cousin Gimli prove to have formed quite the fierce friendship."

The Elf chuckled darkly, and then beckoned her to follow her. "Come, best we reach the Halls before the King leaves for the front. You arrived at the right time."

* * *

Stepping into the cover of Mirkwood was like coming home to Baraz. After the discomfort she had felt in Fangorn, the familiar yet sometimes sick trees made her feel safe. She had friends in these woods, and she knew the road like the back of her hand. Well, the road...definitely not the one Tauriel was taking, since there was no road then. And all foreigners knew that once you strayed off the path, you never found it again.

The Elvenhalls stood in a part of the forest that Baraz had never visited out of her mother's memories. Her father always did his best to go around it as far as possible, so she had never seen its beauty.

Yet it was very different from Rivendell's raw purity. The Elvenhalls erupted from under a hill, ivy-covered pillars framing a high set of wooden doors that stood before a long bridge over the river. Framing the entrance to the bridge was an arch made of white polished wood, and as she passed under it, Baraz couldn't help but caress the engraved leaves upon it.

The inside was even more spectacular. Despite being underground, the city had high ceilings and defied the laws of gravity with its many bridges over ravines and high stairs without railings.

Tauriel rounded one of the longest bridges, for which Baraz was grateful, and brought her to a high circular flight of stairs that climbed so high it disappeared over head. The Elf gestured her guest to pass first, surely to make sure there was no potential fall, and followed her.

* * *

Baraz counted not less than 500 stairs until they reached a first level. They were still underground, and Tauriel signified her to carry on climbing. This time, 300 stairs until they both erupted in a circular room lit by sunlight, under a dome of pure glass woven with silver volutes.

Thranduil was standing there, another younger Elf fastening the straps on his silver armour. His long, white hair almost reached the floor behind him and, when he turned, his icy blue eyes widened, a perfect silver eyebrow raising in surprise.

"_Tauriel, ya naa tanya?_" _**Tauriel, who is this?**_

Baraz did not let her friend answer for her, surprising the monarch once again with her almost perfect use of his mother tongue. "_Baraz i'eneth nîn, Heru en amin. Quessiri essa amin Aier._" _**My name is Baraz, My Lord. Elves call me Short-One.**_

"_Lle i'lambe tel'Eldalie?_" _**You speak elvish?**_

"_Ar, Heru en amin._" _**Yes, My Lord.**_

"_A' lle naa Pernogoth?_" _**And you are Half-Dwarf?**_

"_Amin naa mellon Quessir. Mellon lle iôn._" _**I am friend of the Elves. Friend of your son.**_

Thranduil paused, eyes still widened but this time, in puzzlement. Then he dismissed the young male at his side and advanced on her, towering over her slender form with his elven height. "_Mankoi naa lle sinome?_" _**Why are you here?**_

"_Amin naa sinome en quena lle veriad._" _**I am here to ask for your help.**_ She paused and bowed the head. "_Erebor naa e dagor._"_** Erebor is at war.**_

"_Lye__ naa e dagor, Pernogoth._" _**We**__** are at war, Half-Dwarf. **_The King tensed. "_Mankoi quena lle?_" _**Why do you ask?**_

She dared to glance up at him, jaw set, anger rising in her veins as she started to understand why her own father didn't like the man. He was prejudiced, and too old to see the beauty in things. "_Iôn-lle nowe lle aa'veriad-nîn._" _**Your son thought you would help me.**_

"_Amin n'rangwa Legolas._" _**I don't understand Legolas. **_He looked at her harshly, eyes as pale as winter snow boring into her for a long moment before her waved aimlessly in the air. "_Manke lle merna, amin onava paeui curucuar._"_** If you wish, I will give you twenty archers.**_

Baraz sighed in obvious relief and bowed the head again, this time in true respect. "_Diola lle, Heru en amin. Lye nuquernuva sen e dagor._" _**Thank you, My Lord. We will defeat them in battle.**_

Thranduil looked down at her again, interest in his features. He didn't smile, but he seemed amused. "_Si kela._"_** Now leave.**_

She bowed again, and then followed Tauriel back down the stairs.

Utterly relieved.

* * *

She knew the valour of elven archers, especially those of Mirkwood. They were the best there was. Twenty of them could easily make the battle for Erebor and Dale tilt their way instead of the enemy's.

As Tauriel guided her back through the trees, sun setting above them and leaving the forest in its usual thick and black darkness, Baraz felt hopeful perhaps for the first time since leaving Rivendell all those months prior.

Her people could be saved.

"Here our paths shall go different ways, young one."

Baraz looked at her old friend, and felt the urge to grab her hand and squeezed it strongly. To her surprise – Elves were not usually beings who liked physical contact – Tauriel squeezed back. "Be safe, my friend."

"And you, Baraz, red-haired maiden. _Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta._" _**May your ways be green and golden.**_

Baraz smiled sadly and bowed the head. "_Tenna' telwan san'._" _**Until later then.**_ And she turned on her heels and left into the dark of night.

War was ahead, war was behind. War was everywhere, and she hoped to Mahal and all the other gods she had learnt about that she would be on the winning side...

* * *

_A/N: Next chapter, we go back to a besieged Dale, and meet again with some beloved characters and meet period with a new "kinda" OC. ;)_


	20. 19, A saviour

_A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back, and I'm officially living in Ireland now! So, be thankful you have a chapter to read this month, because it had been written before-hand, and all my other stories are kinda on hiatus until I find a proper place to stay. ;)_

_Also, it is very important that you read the following changes I have made from this chapter on:_

_\- King Brand is aged 48 in 3019;_

_\- Prince Bard is 27;_

_\- His sister is called Sigrid Ariana, and is 15; they have a brother, Helion, who is 21;_

_You will understand the importance of these changes quickly enough. ;) Enjoy!_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters._**

* * *

**_Playlist for this chapter: _**_Barrels out of bond; Girion, Lord of Dale; and Kingsfoil from the Desolation of Smaug OST._

* * *

**19\. A saviour**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**3rd March**_

* * *

Baraz ran for miles during the night, hoping to reach her forefather's lands before dawn. Eyes dancing on the plains around her, she flew on her two feet, toughened by her trek with Aragorn and now knowing she could go on for days without stopping. Her fingers were still tensed around her bowstring, ready to shoot an arrow at any foe who would appear in her sight.

The Lake was as dead as she had always known it, even, perhaps, more silent than usual. No boat on the still water, no fish to produce ripples at the surface, not even the usual patches of ice that lingered even after the heart of winter. Settling her cloak more firmly around her shoulders, Baraz continued, avoiding the sight of Esgaroth' ruins.

When she reached the Desolation, she had to stop, even to hide, for the sight she was given was not one to lift the weight off her shoulders.

An immense army was stretched at the foot of New Dale's walls, circling the Mountain in an almost perfect circle. But the little order in the way tents had been erected and in the irregular spots of groups in the dark told her that, at least, this army was not made of one professional army. The Easterlings had, no doubt, received reinforcements from lower scum like the pirates of Umbar.

This did not help her cause. She would have to enter the city by its most northern border, and hope not to be seen. Fortunately for her, the sun had only begun to rise, and it'd be hiding behind the Lonely Mountain for another hour. She had to be swift.

Adjusting the hood of her cloak over the red fire of her hair, Baraz wrapped her bow back around her shoulders, deciding that, if she had to fight, it'd be better to use the knives she had taken with her when she had left, near on a year prior.

And like a thief in the light of dawn, she approached her city...

* * *

New Dale could possibly the citadel sporting the highest walls in the free world, safe, perhaps, for the legendary Minas Tirith in the South. Baraz knew how difficult it was to climb those walls, for they had been built by Dwarves in the beginning of times – or not too far off – and their stone was smooth and hard as diamond.

Fortunately, from her childhood and many strolls in the city accompanied by adventurous Fili, Baraz knew some few places where the wall was, indeed, possible to pass. And it happened that one of those places had been discovered by her mother more than seventy years prior, when she had crossed Dale on her way back to Hobbiton. Her father had told her that Ariana, wishing to see the Desolation of Smaug from above, had climbed onto a wall, and had fallen into a crevasse thin enough for a woman to pass, but invisible from the outside to anyone who did not know it was there. Like a trick to the eye, one could sink in the wall unseen, in fact passing between two pieces of wall standing close to each other but not touching anymore.

The sun was beginning to appear in the sky, revealing its golden crown above the peak that stood near, and Baraz pushed back her hood before hoisting herself into the crevasse, passing like a shadow into the city. Behind the hole stood an empty building once used as a safe-house.

But as she stepped into the street beyond, she heard the characteristic hiss of a bowstring being tensed, and a calm, deep voice behind her.

"I'd advise you to freeze, Madam."

Knowing that, in a moment like this, she had better do as her assailant asked, Baraz froze, her hand in mid-air where she had intended to grab her bow. The sun played in her eyes, so that when the Man moved in front of her, his face was swallowed in the shadows.

He was not tall, but broad of shoulders. She could see his brown hair, long enough to curl under his ears, and the dark blue leather armour he wore. His bow was a high bow that only a few men in Dale knew how to wield. He was, at least, of the House of Bard Ist.

The man tilted his head to the side, and Baraz imagined a smirk forming on his lips. "That's the first time I see a Half-Dwarf used as a spy..."

She could hear the smile in his voice, and she huffed just as he lowered his bow. She crossed her arms in annoyance. "If you had recognized me, there was no need for the charade, Sir."

"I had not recognized you. I don't know you." He moved forward, and the sun played on his face, revealing his traits.

Baraz froze again at the sight of familiar grey eyes and thin lips around which played a thin beard. The Man was handsome in a peculiar way, but in that moment, she knew of whose blood he was. "Are you a member of King Brand's family?"

The man's brow rose. "I am his eldest son and heir, Bard."

Baraz' eyes widened, and then she chuckled darkly. "Just my luck. A _boy_ thinks he can arrest me on his own."

"I am not a boy anymore, my lady," he said with a smirk that made his eyes twinkle, "and I could have killed you right then." She hummed, unconvinced. "I know _what_ you are, but I don't know _who_ you are. Care to enlighten me?"

"My name is Baraz, daughter of-"

"I know." A wave of recognition had passed over his face at her name, and he bowed the head slightly, the smile still in place. "Your name is famous all around Dale. But I thought you had gone on a Quest of your own..."

"I had, but I have returned, as you can see. Now, this is all very pleasant, but can I pass? I need to see my King."

Bard chuckled and mockingly bowed to let her pass. "I think that, this early in the morning, you are in for a bad reception..."

Baraz gritted her teeth as she moved past him. "I am never well-received anyway, why would that change?"

And as she strolled through the familiar but empty streets, shadowed by a princely archer, Baraz started to form her speech in her head. It'd be better to be prepared before being brought in front of Dain. To make sure he could not refuse her...

* * *

There were no guards at the entrance of the Mountain when Baraz reached it, which made her swallow a lump in her throat. She was painfully aware, in that moment, of the army at their doors, and hoped she had not come too late... Who knew?

Knowing he still followed her, she whirled around and faced Bard, who was quietly walking behind her. If he could have whistled, he would have, she was sure of it. Harshly, she asked, "Has a battle occurred yet?"

The prince flinched at the venom in her voice, but answered anyway with calm and poise. "No, none has. They arrived two days ago, and so far, they've just waited. For what, we don't know..."

Baraz' eyes played on the tiny spots of light far ahead on the plains, signalling an army was slowly waking up. "I have an idea what for, actually." She was going to resume climbing the stone stairs, but stopped, glancing at her shadow once more. "You'd better go and wake your father. He must hear this too."

Bard shrugged and chuckled darkly. "If such is your wish, _Lady Baraz_..." he mockingly bowed again and then whirled around.

She watched him retreat to the city streets, her lips set in a line. She did not know why, exactly, but he made her uncomfortable. An uneasy feeling had settled in her stomach when he had first spoken, and only when she passed the doors of her fathers' home did it fade...slightly.

* * *

Erebor was awake, of course. The Dwarves did not often sleep late in the mornings, not when the mines were in need of strong hands and gems were waiting to be cut. Although, in a moment like this, Baraz doubted they would rise to resume their daily activities. Not when they had an enemy at their door.

Eyes widened as Baraz crossed the halls, and rumours spread through the ranks of males and females alike. Her jaw set, she walked as quickly as she could towards the Counsel-room, in the left wing. It was not the time to answer indelicate questions from her fellow Dwarves.

When she reached the high doors of her aim, a Dwarf stopped her, his hand on a high-spear. "Stop! Who are you and why are you here?"

She recognized the Dwarf faintly, but could not place a name on his face. She pushed the hood back, and stood straighter, towering over him in what she hoped was an imposing stature. "I am Baraz, daughter of Bofur, and I wish to speak with the King."

The guard's eyes narrowed and his knuckles gripped the spear harder. "Baraz daughter of Bofur has gone. She has not returned for months."

"But as you can see, I am now here. Please, I really need to speak with the King."

"Zarth? What is it?" Baraz could have sighed in relief upon hearing that familiar voice, and when she turned, she saw the grey hair and beard of Gloin, father of Gimli, walk their way. When he saw her, his dark eyes widened. "Baraz? What in Mahal's name are you doing here?"

She sighed. "I have no time to explain, Uncle," she ignored his wince of annoyance, "I must speak with the King. Now."

Gloin paused, then nodded at the guard, who let them both pass into the hall beyond. Baraz entered with a quick stride that made her painfully aware of the tempo she had had to keep those last weeks.

* * *

Dain and his son Thorin were both standing in one corner, obviously waiting for the usual meeting to take place. Dwalin, Baraz' old uncle, already sat at the table, his broad hands closed around a map he was studying. They were the only people present.

Upon seeing who their visitor was, king and prince hurried down the hall and stopped in front of her, a mixture of curiosity and animosity on their faces.

"Baraz." the king greeted, obviously not that happy to see her.

She bowed the head. "King Dain."

His little eyes danced over her figure, from her loose hair to her cloak and finally to her bow. "Why on Earth are you wearing elven clothes? And what is that bow? Explain yourself!"

Baraz stood straighter, not caring if the king felt little facing her. She was done playing nice little girl to that person. Her eyes threw flames when she answered, "I honestly do not think my attire is any concern to you, Your Majesty. Unless you think an elven cloak is a good mean to defeat the army at your doors."

Thorin let out a huff and crossed his arms on his chest. Baraz ignored him, her eyes still locked to her king's form. He was glaring at her openly, but after a painful pause, Dwalin's voice arose behind them.

"Let the lass tell us what she's 'ere fer, Dain. She must 'ave a good reason to be 'ere at this 'our."

Dain growled, but nodded anyway. He glanced at Gloin, who was still frozen at the door. "Go and fetch the other counsellors." Gloin hurried out of the room, and the king looked back at the woman in front of him. "Sit."

She held her chin up and walked to the long table, towards the place she had last occupied. When she shed her elven cloak and set the elven bow aside, she realised that she had unplaited her hair, erasing all sign of her engagement to Filì. In that moment, though, she did not care.

As Dain and Thorin moved to sit around the table as well, she deemed right to inform them that "I have asked King Brand and his son to come too. This concerns all of us."

Thorin snorted. "Some are definitely not ashamed to take decisions they should not be taking around here..."

She glared at him, launching him a sickly and deadly smile. "Fortunately for you, those some have seen things that can save your bacon. Don't forget that 'some' could have stayed in the comfort of a hobbit-hole for all eternity and not cared about your fate, Thorin Stonehelm."

Silence fell in the room, and then Dwalin, facing her, studied her face intently. He said a quiet "Yer've seen things, child", before the doors slammed open and two furies entered.

* * *

"Baraz!"

Her head snapped to her right at the sound of that voice, and she rose, meeting its owner half-way. Filì's arms closed around her form, and she buried her nose in his blonde locks as his father closed a hand over hers on his son's back. "Fil... Uncle Kilì..."

"We did not know you had come back!" the younger said while stepping out of her embrace. "How is it you're here?"

She glanced at the king for a second, then back at her childhood friend. "It is a long story. One I don't want to repeat too many times. Let's wait for the others first."

Kilì hugged her quickly as well before all three moved back to the table.

When Filì sat beside her, he glanced at Baraz' hair and smiled. "You've let it loose."

She made a grimace. "It was easier to travel."

"I don't mind." he leaned in. "There will soon be no more reason for this betrothal anyway." She looked at him curiously, but he smirked and looked away. Why was he saying such things? Had he met someone? Or did he mean that the impeding war would set them free?

She did not have time to wonder, for a group of angry Dwarves entered the room, followed by two taller figures: King Brand, and Prince Bard.

* * *

Frìr and Gloin sat together, sharing hard glances and ushering words in Khuzdûl while watching Baraz wearily. Dwalin and Thorin were quiet, as were Kilì and Filì. Brand, his hair now grey and thin, sat at the extremity of the table, his son next to him, blue eyes dancing on every part of the room he could see. He obviously had never visited his neighbours before, and was looking too excited to be considered proper.

Dain cleared his throat and the quiet chatter stopped at once. He glanced at Baraz and gestured her to speak up.

She felt less confident than she had earlier, but Filì's hand came to rest on hers on the table, and Bard's playful gaze on her made her blood heat and she found her courage again.

"Thank you for coming this early. For those who do not know me, or have forgotten, I am Baraz, daughter of Ariana and Bofur. I have been away from Erebor for several months now, travelling with a company of nine companions, including Gloin's son, Gimli." Gloin glanced at her in mild interest. "We set out of Rivendell in December. I cannot tell you what our aim was, although I am sure you do know. Our journey brought us to Moria; and to Lorien, the home of the Lady Galadriel."

She could see that the Dwarves were very interested in knowing what had happened in Moria, if she had seen any proof of Balin's survival in the dark mines, but her gaze darkened, and when she crossed Dwalin's eyes, he seemed to understand, for his hand set into a fist. Balin was his older brother.

Taking a deep breath, she carried on. "Some of you may know that the Lady Galadriel has some powers. One of those powers is that she can foresee things. And she can share what she has seen with others through what she calls her Mirror." She let the news sink in for a moment, not liking the way the Dwarves seemed repulsed by her story at all. "She has shown me something in her Mirror's midst. And before you tell me that it was a trick, know that Gandalf the Grey, old friend of Thorin Oakenshield and advisor of King Dain when he rose to power, foresaw the same events."

Another pause, another uneasy breath.

"I saw Erebor's fall." No sound. "The Easterlings at our doors have been sent here with one purpose and one only: to destroy, to kill all of us. Prince Bard told me earlier that they have been here for several days without making one move. I can reveal to you why they haven't attacked yet. They are waiting. The Enemy's wish is to attack all bastions East of the Misty Mountains at the same time: Lorien; Mirkwood; Erebor. Minas Tirith."

King Brand raised a hand. Baraz looked at him with a small smile. She remembered when she had met him, so many years before. He was still Prince at that time, young and happy. Now, the weight of his responsibilities had made him age before his time, and he looked tired. "Do you mean that we cannot wish for help from anyone?"

Baraz shook her head. "That's what they intend to do. Attack all at once to make sure no one can help his allies. However," she added a little smugly, "I have gone to King Thranduil and he has agreed to send forth twenty of his best archers."

Dain growled. "Thranduil has nothing to do here! Let him rot in his forest! You had no right to ask him for help! You have made fools of our people!"

Baraz rose from her chair, earning herself some surprised glances from those who knew how she was usually calm and composed in Dain's presence. Her eyes, once again, threw fire. "You seem to forget, _King Dain_, that I am not only of dwarven blood! My mother was a Daughter of Men, and as such, I am also answering to King Brand." She glanced at the Man, whose eyes widened. She had never before voiced her allegiance to him or his people. "And if you are _foolish_ enough to refuse help, I'm sure he will not!"

Brand cleared his throat and nodded. "Archers from the Wooden Realm will indeed be appreciated. They will fight alongside our own archers."

Beside him, Bard seemed very content. He sported a huge grin on his face that, once more, looked far too improper for the current situation.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Baraz bowed the head and, without sitting back down, turned again to the King of Dwarves. "Now, shall we discuss strategy?"

He looked about to burst. If he had his hammer close at hand, she'd already be dead, and she knew it. But she did not care anymore. Gone were the days when she wanted to please him.

Dwalin sighed, seemingly wishing to soothe the tension. "What d'yer reckon?"

Baraz looked at him, and breathed more evenly. "They look as though there are parts of several tribes inside a big army. I doubt they are that organised. If we can throw some discord among them, it'll tear them apart."

Dain stood too, although he was too small to wish to worry her own stance. "_I_ am King here, young Baraz! You are _not_ a general, _not_ of royal blood, _not_ a royal counsellor! Now your message has been delivered, _leave this room_!"

She looked at him for a second, before a smile formed on her lips, and she threw back the elven cloak around her shoulders, revelling in the look of disgust its appearance had on the Dwarves. Then she looked down at Filì, who was looking at her as if she was the best person he had ever seen in his short life. "I'll be at my father's, if you're looking for me."

And with those words, she strode out of the room.

* * *

When the doors were closed behind her, she closed her eyes. She had made her choice. Chosen one half of her blood rather than the other. Would her father approve? She did not know, but in that moment, she knew she could not have lived with herself if she had chosen otherwise...

* * *

_A/N: So, what did you think? I really wanna know! Plus, I wrote Bard having Tom Burke in mind. He'd be the perfect Prince of Dale in my sense... XD_


	21. 20, Pariah

_A/N: I am back for good, readers. Four months have passed since the last update, and I can't apologize enough for it. I lost all my notes - again - and had to start from scratch on the four chapters I had already written for the Battle of Dale, and that took some time. But now I am back, and I won't let you down again._

_I come back to you the day after I bought The Battle of the Five Armies Extended Edition, and I must share with you the utter wave of sheer emotion that washes through me everytime that I watch the bonus section. I truly feel that Peter Jackson, for all his faults, has delivered us with a double-masterpiece; and I would have definitely loved to be part of the crew just to be able to thank Sir Ian McKellen for being a goofball; Martin Freeman for being such a talented fucker; and Richard Armitage for giving us the best acting I have seen in ages. And I have known his work since the beginning of his carrier. That is saying something._

_But without further ado, here comes the planning for the last stand._

* * *

_**Disclaimer: Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **A good omen from An unexpected journey OST; Beyond sorrow and grief from The Battle of the Five Armies OST._

* * *

**20\. Pariah**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**3rd March**_

* * *

As she was making her way through Erebor's halls, still seething, Baraz started understanding the full consequences of her actions. She had denied her father's blood; had forsaken a king that was far too dangerous to be antagonized; and she had taken upon herself to plan a battle that she had no right to take part in.

The Quest had really changed her...

Old Baraz would have hung her head low as she crossed Dwarves on her way. She'd have blushed under their critical eyes on her attire. She'd have shed it, perhaps, in respect for their repulsion towards the Tall Kin.

But now? Now, she was advancing chin held high, one hand on her elven bow even as she muttered quiet curses in the tongue of Durin.

* * *

Her father's workshop lay in a deep part of the Mountain, where light was a rare treat. Baraz had to cross several corridors void of any torch, and it was a blessing that her memory served her well, for any other person would have probably cowered away at the pitch black atmosphere of the place.

Baraz knocked once on the wooden door before pushing it open, and her anger faded as soon as her eyes fell on the scene before her.

Bofur's workshop had always been littered with toys, some finished some not, precariously placed on shelves where they waited to be brought to the market in Dale to be sold to the human children who were so fond of them. A small hearth in one corner provided some light and warmth to the place, and a grey-haired Dwarf was sitting in front of it, humming a song as he delicately painted petals on a wooden flower.

"You could at least have tidied up before I arrived, Da." she said in a clear voice, and she chuckled as her father jumped and whirled around on his stool, grey eyes widening as he took her in.

Bofur was swift in placing the toy to the side and hurrying to his child's side. His strong arms encompassed her and he hugged her so tightly Baraz understood at that moment that he thought she would not have come back. Not alive...

"I did no' know ye were comin'!" he chastised as he let her go. His eyes ran over her form, eyebrow lifting as he took in her cloak, bow and brooch. "Yer look...different."

Baraz was graceful for the lack of venom in his voice. Instead, he sounded concerned. A hand shot to grasp his own bigger hand, calloused by years of work. "I have changed, Da, that is true. But let's not speak about it. How have you been?"

He shrugged, a shadow passing in his steely gaze. "Never mind how I 'ave been, Baraz Bofurdottir. Yer were gone on a dangerous journey tha' could 'ave taken yer life! Do not think I don' remember the dangers we faced on our own Quest!"

Baraz chuckled. He was not really angry. Curiosity was seaping through his words, and a mischievous gleam had appeared just as he uttered the last part. She steered him back to his stool and sat carefully on the edge of the fireplace. "I have been through Mountains and valleys and mines and forests. I have lost dear friends and found them again, and I have faced evils that I did not know existed."

"Mines..." was the only word that he echoed, but Bofur did not ask. Instead, he nodded to himself, and when he looked back at his daughter, the seriousness had come back. "Why did ye come back?"

Baraz sighed, her eyes losing focus as she was reminded of the "conversation" she had just had in the Council room. "The Lady Galadriel showed me something in her Mirror. Something that could come to pass. Something that I want to prevent. Erebor's fall." Bofur gritted his teeth, but did not answer. She carried on. "I had to warn Dain."

"I bet he didn' like it, eh?"

She let out a dry laugh. "No, he did not." She paused, her hand going to his again. "Da... I have...I have," she took a deep breath, "I have pledged allegiance to King Brand."

Bofur did not respond for a moment, but his face was blank, void of any emotion at all. At last, he squeezed her fingers again and sighed. "I guess it's fer the best. Ye'd be 'appier there."

Baraz did not answer, a strange weight being lifted off her shoulders. That is, until he spoke again.

"I s'ppose yer won' stay here then? Move ter Dale?"

She had not thought about it. At all. But now that he was bringing it up, it was making sense. She could not stay with her father in Erebor when she had so openly gone against its king. She would have to move out. Maybe she could use her old officine in the city... It was not big but she was alone, and smaller than the average human.

"Come then," Bofur said after a moment, standing and holding out a hand for her to follow, "let's visit yer uncle before you leave. Otherwise he'll 'ave our 'eads!"

Baraz followed, a bitter smile on her lips.

* * *

The light had begun to fade over that part of the world when Baraz left her father and uncle Bombur in Erebor's kitchens.

Dwarves did not overly appreciate farewells, but even then, at the eve of yet another battle, both males embraces the slender form of their grown-up protégée until she could not breathe anymore.

When she reached the entrance hall again, Baraz felt a small smile form on her lips. Leaning against a pillar in his usual roguish way was Filí, and the sight of him brought memories and regrets to her heart.

The young Dwarf strode to her, smirk on his lips, and his first words were laced with a slight laughter. "Well done, Gazardu. You actually manage to create a rift between our consellors today." Wise-one.

Baraz rolled her eyes even as she embraced her friend - brother, she thought after a moment. "I doubt it."

"No, really," he said, suddenly looking much more serious than he had his entire life. "Some of the men agreed with your tactics. Said that the Elves were probably our best chance. But Dain and Thorin are stubborn. They will not yield."

She looked up to the skies showing through the Front Gate. The sky was a clear dark blue painted with orange. So peaceful for such an atmosphere. "I will do what I can."

"I know you will. I told King Brand I'd escort you to his palace. You are to stay there apparently," he added with a mischievous smirk. "Lucky you."

Baraz stopped on tracks and shook her head. "But-"

"But what, Milady?" came another voice. Baraz looked at the bottom of the stairs, and caught Filí shake of the head as she noticed the other prince standing there as if he owned the place. Bard was looking very interested in everything he saw of Erebor, if the way his eyes followed every citizen's move was any indication. "I think, as my father's most trusted counsellor, you have a right to be there."

Baraz got down the flight of stairs, keeping her childhood friend close. The Prince of Dale's presence had put her on edge ever since that morning when they met, and it was not a feeling she appreciated, since she could not put a name on it. "Your fathe's offer is most kind. But there is a siege to plan."

"And so it will be. Prince Filí, would you do us the honour of accompanying your cousin at dinner?"

Filí's smile was nothing good. He bowed the head. "I will be delighted."

Baraz nudged him in the ribs as Bard contently guided the way to the town again, but the younger Dwarf ignored her pesky move and pulled her forward.

* * *

There was no doubt that Dale was under siege. Even as night fell, soldiers patrolled the streets, lit up torches and checked walls for any weaknesses.

Baraz quietly asked Filí if this had been happening since the beginning, and he confirmed that ever since the army had begun camping at their feet, both Dale and Erebor had taken serious measures. Bard nodded his assent.

There was a strange atmosphere between the two princes. Some kind of respect was there even though Baraz suspected they had not properly met before that day. But, in all honesty, Bard was going to be a king one day. Filí was to stay a Royal Prince all of his life.

If his life lasted that long anyway...

King Brand's palace - if it could be called that - stood in the middle of the city, and had been rebuilt on the ruins of the city hall. Baraz had been close to it often before, but she had never stepped inside. Even then, the porch, with its melted stone stairs, looked like a forbidden place. One time, she had asked a woman of Dale why the kings had not replaced the darkened and uneven stairs, and she had answered that it was a constant reminder of the desolation once brought upon the city by the dragon Smaug.

Bard expertly dodged the most uneven of steps and guided the two dwarflings inside. A wide carpeted hall stood before them, a painting of the old Dale welcoming the visitors right in front of the porch. To the left, a long stone staircase flew to the higher levels, and to the right, a long corridors led no doubt to where King Brand received his subjects.

Bard stopped a maid on his way to the stairs. "Please tell my sister our guests have arrived." The girl nodded and hurried to a side door. "Follow me," he added, gesturing both Baraz and Filí forward and up.

* * *

The stairs led them to yet another corridor, and though it was carpeted as well with a thick woollen burgundy fabric, it did not feel regal at all. But that, Baraz thought, was the way of Bard Ist. When he had risen to power, it had been a people's choice, not his. And he had wished to keep as humble as possible.

Bard led the two to a dining-room where sat King Brand, alone safe for a servant standing some respectful paces behind him. He was studying what looked to be a map. "Father?"

The King raised his head and a look of relief passed over his face. "Ah, Lady Baraz, Your Highness, please do come in. I am glad you are here. Come," he beckoned them both to the table.

Baraz did not really know what to do with her bow and quiver, and discarded both on the table. If it was not proper to put weapons there, she did not know, and doubted it was, but she was not a Lady and still refused to be mistaken for one. "Your Majesty."

"Please, Milady, we have known each other for too long to call each other so formally. Do call me Brand, as in the old days." Baraz did not miss the look of interest in Bard's face, nor the slight smirk of Filí, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Only if you call me Baraz, as in the old days."

He smiled, and gestured her to sit at his right. Filí took place next to her, and Bard went to sit at his father's left, putting his own longbow on the table next to the slender elven one of Baraz.

"I am glad you both are here, for I was made aware that the army at our doors is stirring. We fear they might attack soon." Brand pointed at the map before him, where small flags bearing the seal of the Haradrim lay in sand colour.

Baraz nodded. "They have been waiting for a long time." She paused. "King Thranduil promised twenty archers. They should arrive promptly."

"And you will lead them." Brand said without skipping a beat. "Prince Filí told me you have a certain gift with the elven tongue, and that will be an advantage." He paused as well. "If you do not mind."

"Brand," Baraz sighed, "I pledged allegiance to you and your House. I will do whatever you order me to."

"Let's agree that you have more experience and life for the sake of this argument." Brand smiled. "Where do you think we shall post our troops?"

Baraz looked down at the map. As she had seen when she arrived that morning, the enemy's troops were gathered all around the city, blocking any possible retreat. "I think we should lure them to a certain point. They will no doubt try to kill our generals first, to drain the spirit. You, of course, and King Dain, will be the point of focus." All three men nodded. "How many men do you have?"

"A thousand archers, two thousand swordsmen, and another thousand spikemen."

Baraz nodded. That was not much compared to the numbers that would be thrown at them, even with the two thousand Dwarven soldiers that would eventually join the fight. "Post two hundred bowmen at the Western and Eastern gates along with one hundred spikemen and one hundred swordsmen. Post the rest at the Southern gate. And post yourself there as well." She looked briefly at the prince facing her. "I shall take Prince Bard with me. His bow will be useful."

Bard was going to protest, but his father raised a hand. "And he will go." He looked down at the map. "What about their fire? Catapults, rams?"

"Dale has catapults of its own, and if I remember correctly, my forefathers supplied you with quite a few archebuses," she smirked.

Brand mirrored her smile. "Yes, and dwarven iron never fails."

"I will post the elven archers here," she pointed at the left ranks of the enemy's army. "If we force them to regroup, it will be easier for your archers to take a larger number down."

"Indeed."

There was a moment of silence, and then Filí leaned forward. "Have you thought about the food and water supplies?"

Brand looked at him, tight-lipped. "Water will not be an issue, with the river running straight from the Mountain. But food...we have already been under siege for two weeks. We will not last longer than four more."

Baraz nodded gravely. "Ration the portions evenly. No one will be given more food than they deserve. Treat every citizen equally, even more so those who will be willingly giving their lives for you."

Brand looked at her with a look she could not quite place. He remained silent for a moment, then said, quietly and steadily, "You would make quite the leader, Lady Baraz of the Shire."

Baraz felt like blushing. She was no leader, and had not been raised as such. But battle, and the Quest, had told her that no life mattered more than any other.

* * *

At that moment, the door creaked open, and a young lady of about fifteen years of age trailed inside, dressed in a plain but beautiful white dress. Her brown hair was plaited and pinned to her head, and intelligent grey eyes fell onto the company at once.

"Sorry for my lateless, Father. I was down in the city with Ma." She hurried to the king's side and planted a kiss to his cheek before she came to stand by Baraz' chair.

She stood hurriedly to bow the head at the young girl. "Princess Sigrid. You have grown quite beautiful since the last time I saw you."

"That is because I was only a babe when you did, Lady Baraz," the young girl chuckled. "I am glad I get to finally meet you. My mother sends her greetings. She is currently busy tending to people's wounds."

Baraz nodded, remembering Queen Talia when they first met. The then-princess had her dress covered in blood as she dressed a pretty nasty wound sustained by a man who had had a boulder fall on top of him. "I am grateful."

"Father," Sigrid said, turning to her father again, "are you quite finished? Lady Baraz surely needs to refresh herself a bit. She has been on the roads for a long time, after all."

Baraz then realised that she was, indeed, long overdue a bath, and that her overall appearance should not have been as tidy as she wished it to be.

Brand nodded. "Do go on, darling. We will, in the meantime, show Prince Filí around. I blieve it is your first time here as well." The Dwarven prince nodded, a glint in his eyes Baraz recognized at once as being curiosity.

So the princess grabbed her arm, and pulled her out of the room and towards the guest rooms.

* * *

"You must have seen quite a few horrendous things on your travels, Milady," Sigrid said as she poured hot water into a brass tub.

Baraz, who had been laying her cloak on the simple bed prepared for her, turned to the young woman, and her expression turned grim. "I would not talk of such things with you, Your Highness."

"Please. Sigrid. You have, after all, helped bringing me into this life, and I will not forget." The girl moved to place a screen in front of the fuming tub. "And I have known of the horrors of life for some time now." Her brow furrowed, and she suddenly looked much older. "My older brother Helion in is Minas Tirith as we speak. And people say that is where the Enemy will make its stand."

"I am sorry to hear that. But," Baraz said with a small smile, fingering the ring around her neck as she said so, "even if I too have loved ones sent to war, we should not lose hope. Ever."

"That is true," Sigrid said with a smile. "I will leave you now. My brother will come fetch you later for dinner. Nothing grand," she added, "we are rationed after all."

Baraz was grateful for Brand and his family. So far from the grandeur of their rank. They had a few servants, but barely treated them as such; Sigrid had poured her bath herself without batting an eyelash; and they were willing to sacrifice their comfort for the sake of their people. Such an example.

* * *

The night had fully fallen when Baraz emerged from her room, fresh clothes on. She had plaited her hair back, but not with Filí's braids. Those times were gone. Instead, she had used her father's family braids and beads, in a small attempt to remember her origins even as she forsaked them. The Elven brooch Lady Galadriel had given her shone at her shoulder, and she felt stronger for it.

Prince Bard was, as expected, waiting for her as she exited the room. He took her appearance with a strangely appraising look, then smirked and gestured her forwards. "My lady."

"Your Highness."

"I would like to thank you," he began, and she looked to the side at his serious look, "for trusting me and my bow. I will be honoured to fight at your side."

"Do not say this as if I was a famed warrior, Prince Bard. My only achievements thus far have been to take part to a Quest and to alienate my king."

He chuckled. "Aye, but that, perhaps, makes the best stuff for legends."

She once again felt rather exposed under his gaze, and when they reached the dining-room again, she was grateful for the distraction Filí would provide.

* * *

Queen Talia greeted her warmly, and if the two women had not seen each other in more than a decade, their common love of healing soon proved to rekindle their companionship. Princess Sigrid, who was schooled in the art by her mother, often joined the conversation.

Although the meal was simple and nothing ominous, the evening was a pleasant one. One devoid of any judgment or discomfort. Baraz almost felt as if she was in Rivendell again.

That is, until a guard erupted in the room with an arrow and a letter in hand.

Baraz immediately recognized the arrowhead. She had seen it so many times on her friend's Legolas' aim that she could not mistake it. "King Thranduil has sent us his men."

King Brand looked solemnly at her. "Then it is time." He took a deep breath. "We shall deploy our troops at sunrise."

* * *

_A/N: I know that Professor Tolkien made the siege begin on the 17th March, but let's for argument sake say it latest even longer. :)_


	22. 21, The first stand

_A/N: Hello readers! I am back on schedule, to your utter content I am sure. ;) This story is one of the few that make me smile even as I write them. I love it and I'm far from finishing this one, I can tell you! ;)_

_Anyway, enjoy the beginning of the war for Dale, and the beginning of a siege..._

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist of this chapter: **Courage and Wisdom; and The Ruins of Dale from The Battle of the Five Armis OST_

* * *

**21\. The first stand**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**4th March**_

* * *

Baraz was awake long before dawn. She had managed to get a little sleep, but sleep barely mattered at the eve of a siege. Dressing in her usual dark blue tunic and black leather trousers, she wrapped her quiver around her shoulders, checking the arrows before she did, and sheathed her long dwarven dagger at her hip. She pinned Lady Galadriel's brooch to her breast and attached her mother's pendant around her neck before grabbing her elven cloak and bow and exiting the room she had been given.

King Brand and his family were, of course, already awake as well. From the windows, Baraz could see that most of Dale was, in fact, already awake, even if only a few torches glew in the dark streets. Let it not be said that Men could not be cunning. They knew their enemy was watching their every move, and moving in darkness was their best advantage.

Filí had left soon after Thranduil's envoy had been received, to warn his father and peers about the impending move on Dale's part. He had squeezed the life out of Baraz for a long time before finally releasing her and making her promise to come back unscathed. She did promise, but did not know if she could, actually, wish to come back.

Brand was studying the city's map again, moving pieces with a frown on his face. Bard, at his side, was sporadically pointing at several corners of the map, while Sigrid and her mother were tearing cloth apart and making bandages. All four acknowledged Baraz' arrival with a small smile and nod.

"Lady Baraz," the King greeted her at once. "I am in need of assistance." She moved by the table, barely noticing Bard's eyes running over her as usual when she glanced at the map again. "Does this look strategic enough to you?"

She took in the four pieces representing the troops she had asked gathered on the Eastern and Western gate, and the five others gathered close to the Southern one. The rest of the pieces were scattered behind buildings or high in towers, hiding from the enemy's sight. She nodded with a stern expression. "Yes. Let them think that the side doors are better protected and that we are waiting for Dain's troops."

She fingered the thin and delicately carved piece of wood that represented the Elves and placed it close to the left side of the Easterlings' ranks. "We will take advantage of the midday sun. They will not see our arrows coming until it is too late."

Brand nodded, and then Talia stood, a grave look on her face as she put to the side an umpteenth roll of bandages, and stared at Baraz as a mother would someone who was going to take away her child. That she was, actually. "What if they turn on you? What then? Will you run to the Lake, to the woods?"

Baraz stared back at the Queen, brow furrowed. She had not thought about it. Strategies were not her strongest point, and she had only thought about this battle plan because that was roughly how Dale had protected itself against the Orcs nigh on eighty years prior. "No. The woods would be too far."

Talia turned to her husband. "Give word to the Western Gate. If things go rough for them, they will need to retreat to our walls swiftly."

Brand nodded gravely, his hand going to his son's shoulder.

Baraz recognized the look in both royals' eyes. They were parents sending their child away to a dangerous place he could very well not come back from. That, coupled to the fact that they already had a son in danger of death in Minas Tirith, sent a chill up Baraz' spine. Was it what her father had felt when he received word of the Quest?

"Lady Baraz," Talia continued after a moment, "please take care of my son."

"Mother-" Bard tried to interrupt.

Talia carried on. "He is one of our best archers, and his sword arm is true, but...no one is invincible."

Baraz approached the Queen and took her hand in hers. "I will do whatever I can to bring him back unscathed, I promise, Lady Talia."

Both women stared and nodded at each other, and then Baraz turned to Bard and grabbed her bow, signifying their leaving.

She left the family to their goodbyes, feeling that she owed them some privacy, and waited in front of the painting of Old Dale for her companion to come back down the stairs, his longbow in hand, his dark clothes already casting a shadow over his face.

"Ready?" she simply asked.

He nodded. "Lead the way."

And they exited the palace into the night.

* * *

Fortunately, the sun that was beginning to rise as both passed the crack in the walls was hidden by clouds, and Baraz and Bard sneaked into the plains unseen by ally or foe. Baraz wore her elven cloak, and that was an advantage, but Bard's dark blue attire was perhaps almost as efficient.

It took them the good of half an hour to reach the edge of the Elves' camp, near the Lake's shores. They were conveniently hidden from the city and the enemy camping in front of it, and even if they were not numerous, Baraz was pleasantly surprised to see that instead of the twenty men Thranduil had promised, there was no less than fifty archers waiting for them.

A chestnut-haired male soon approached both figures, a tall, beautiful man Baraz felt she had seen before, perhaps during her many encounters with Tauriel and her guard. "_Aier-arwen. Mae govannen. Fíriel í eneth nín_." _**Lady Aier, well met. I am called Fíriel.**_

Baraz put her hand on her heart and greeted him in the fashion of the Elves, then noticed the curious and unknowing stare of Bard at her side. She decided to switch to common speech for the time being. "Well met, Fíriel of Greenwood. This is Bard, son of Brand, Prince of Dale."

The Elf bowed the head to the other archer in respect, and Bard mirrored the gesture in a perfect image of the ambassador he no doubt was for his city. "Prince Bard." He then gestured to the Elven archers waiting behind him, none of whom was sitting down or idly standing. They were all alert. "Our King Thranduil sent us to the aid of his son's friend." Baraz had a small smile. She had apparently made more of an impression than she had thought. "He and the rest of his men are travelling South as we speak, to aid our cousins from Lórien."

"Is Tauriel with him?" Baraz couldn't help but enquire.

"She is, _Aier_." Elves were people of few but meaningful words, Baraz had known it for years by then, and she knew that Fíriel would not talk more about the matter.

She decided to at least explain her plan. It was quickly done, and the closest Elves all nodded in interest. Apparently, they agreed with her strategy.

"We shall attack at noon then." Fíriel said simply, and the Elves behind him repeated the Sindarin word for 'Ready yourselves' over and over until the whole group was sharpening daggers and checking arrows.

Bard was looking at the scene like a child who had seen Elves for the first time. Baraz smiled, realising she too, one day, surely had looked like that. She accepted Fíriel's offer for some lembas bread, the nourishing elven bread that could fill a fully-grown Dwarf's belly in two bites. She had witnessed it with Gimli. The only stomachs it could not sate were the Hobbits. Of course.

This sole thought as she nibbed on the bread sent a wave of worry over her. For days now, ever since she had left her friends' side at the edge of Fangorn, she had not spared the Halflings a thought. But now, she felt once more as if she had betrayed them. Her oath was broken, she had abandoned them to their fate, all for the sake of one Mountain...

* * *

"Lady Baraz, are you alright?"

She looked up from her boots and saw that Bard was staring at her, worry in his grey eyes. She must have appeared deep in thought even before the tears had begun to well up in her eyes. She wiped angrily at them and nodded. "I was...thinking about the friends that I left behind."

He nodded almost in understanding. "Where were they heading when you left them?"

"Edoras," she answered simply. She had never seen the land of the Horselords, and would have liked to, but now it was too late to go back. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf...Merry, Pippin...Frodo and Sam...she had left them behind.

"You should not feel regret, Baraz," Bard said suddenly, looking down as if he was ashamed to use her birthname alone, "you did not do them wrong. They too made to warn the lands of Men."

How he had understood her thoughts she'd never know, but she realised he was somehow right. Gandalf had wished to warn Théoden, King of Rohan, before they headed no doubt to Minas Tirith itself. The greater good, the greater battle, while little Frodo sneaked into Mordor unseen...

"You are right, Bard," she answered in the same fashion, "we should show Sauron how the realms of Men, Dwarves and Elves fight for their freedom."

He smirked, grey eyes going to hers and glinting with something she could not place. Perhaps adrenaline was already rising in his veins.

Fíriel was suddenly back at their side. "It is time," the Elf said as smoothly as he always did, and Baraz rose, folding her elven cloak and grabbing her bow. Time indeed.

* * *

She was thankful for the quietness of the Elves as soon as the group of fifty started for Dale. It would have made much more sound if it had been Dwarves, but then, even the breeze made more sound than their light footsteps on the grass.

The Lake was soon behind, and as they neared the hill behind which they'd have to hide, Baraz felt the fear and tension that came before a fight rise in her blood again. She had not felt such a thing since that day on the shores of Parth Galen, and once again her thoughts flew to the Hobbits. She prayed anyone who'd listen that they were safe, and when she notched her first arrow, it was for them.

Fíriel praised the way she held the Galadhrim bow with a smile and a nod, and he even made a compliment to Bard, saying that "Only a few Men could wield the longbows of Dale". Then silence fell, and wait began.

Every Elf had an arrow ready in their hand, and as the sun rose to its highest position, a line of brown or red-haired Silvanings appeared on top of the hill, two smaller figures among them. Baraz rose her arm, aiming for the line of dark dots that she could see some hundred paces from her. Fíriel raised his bow and said in a clear voice that carried over the plain "_Tangado haid!_" _**Prepare your bows!**_

Bard aimed next to Baraz, and when the first elven bolt flew into the air, so did fifty more. As intended, the first flight of arrows took the Enemy by surprise, maiming men who had been slowly preparing for the day. Clamours rose from the camp at the same time as a well-known horn blew from deep in the city.

Baraz' blood froze. Dain. The horn of Erebor.

She saw the doors to the Southern Gate open from the distance and she cursed even as dwarven warriors erupted from the city within, their war cry carrying up to them. The Easterlings seemed to hesitate between the two sides of the fight, and chose the gate.

Baraz had not intended it to be much different, but she had not wished for the Dwarves to attack this soon. She notched again, not stopping to release her arrows until her quiver was empty and an Elf brought her a filled one.

* * *

It went on for what felt like hours, their group firing their lethal shafts to the side of the enemies' ranks, getting closer to the city walls as the Easterlings retreated closer to the centre of their army. On the Southern bridge, Dwarves were battling Men that were armed with curved shortswords and light armour that made them much quicker than them. There was already a good number of casualties on the ground, and Baraz could see that Dain's plan had already proved to be stupid. The only way was forward, but they were crowded on the bridge.

Soon, far too soon, there was no more arrows. The Easterlings soon realised this, and their ranks opened as they ran to the Elves and their two companions. Bard unsheathed the long sword he had been wearing at the hip and Baraz unsheathed her Dwarven dagger.

"Keep close, _Aier_!" Fíriel yelled, a twin set of curved daggers similar to Legolas' already bringing pain and death to the men who had reached him.

Baraz cursed a loud Khuzdûl curse that her father would have scowled at, and whirled around, moving away from a dangerously curved sword. The Easterling who had engaged her had dark skin, much darker than anything she had seen before, and his dark eyes had been circled with red paint, making him look crazed with bloodlust. She saw the strengths of these men as soon as she tried in vain to open a gash in his side. They were quick. Really quick.

Her opponent fell to Fíriel's blades, and the Elf looked at her with understanding at once. "_Kela ten Dale. Sina dagor naa wethrine._" _**Go back to Dale. This fight is lost.**_

She shook her head. "_Khila lye._" _**Come with us.**_

He mirrored her, barely moving when he countered another foe. "_Lye nuquernuva ron._" _**We will delay them.**_

Baraz knew that there was no discussing an Elf's choices, especially when it had to do with battle. So she grabbed Bard's sleeve as she passed him, striking a foe right in the chest with his sword, and she pulled him towards the Western Gate.

This battle was lost. And the siege had begun.


	23. 22, The siege of Dale

_A/N: Hello back, readers, and a Merry Christmas to you! I hope that the year to come will fill your wings with laughter, love and happiness. Which is why this chapter is a bit of a...crack? You'll see for yourselves. :)_

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

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_**Playlist for this chapter: **The Gathering of the Clouds and A Thief in the Night from The Battle of the Five Armies OST._

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**22\. The siege of Dale**

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_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**10th March**_

* * *

Baraz and Bard hurried back to the Western Gate as quick as they could. The gate opened on sight, and closed behind them. Baraz soon spotted the captain in charge of the area and climbed the flight of stairs that lead to the wall he was standing on.

"If any Elf comes this way, open the Gate at once." The man did not question her orders and nodded.

She then turned to Bard, who was staring in the horizon with a stern look on his face. Their eyes met and they both nodded to each other. They ran along the wall, not stopping even though most men tried to impede them in their run. They were out in the open, the enemy could fire bolts and arrows on them, but they flew from wall to wall until they reached their point of view.

Baraz grabbed an archer's quiver and notched at once. The Men's arrows were slightly longer than the elvish ones she had begun to get used to, but her aim was still true when she reached an Easterling right in the chest. The Elf he had been about to stab got back to his feet and blew in the horn of Mirkwood, signifying retreat.

Fíriel was nowhere to be seen, and Baraz feared that the Captain had fallen in his haste to gain them time. It made her painfully aware of how fragile they all were in the light of the sun. Men, Dwarves, Elves...mortal, sons of stone or immortal, they could all fall to a sword.

Anger rose in her veins as she watched the mere dozen Elves, all more or less wounded, that entered the courtyard a few moments later. She flew down the wall, Bard on her heels calling her name in wonder, and she ran along the empty streets until she reached the Southern Gate.

* * *

There stood Dain Ironfoot, clad in his mithril armour, his son by his side nursing a gash on his cheek. She walked up to the monarch, not caring about propriety or her rank.

"What in _Mahal's name _did you think you were doing, _Thane Dain_?" she seethed. The King's dark eyes went to her and ire rose in the pupils, but she ignored it. "You lead good warriors, good Dwarves, to their deaths and _why_? Because you could not take the advice of a half-breed?"

"Who do you thi-" he began, but Baraz rose to her full height, towering one good head over him, and her dwarven dagger found itself suddenly very close to his face.

"_Menu shirumund, Dain Ironfoot._" she spat before whirling around and leaving the scene. _**You are beardless.**_

Bard followed her again and whistled in awe. "Whatever _that _meant, it sounded quite rude."

She spared him only a glance. "It was." Then she noticed blood running at the side of his face. "You are wounded."

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Baraz stopped and faced the prince. "Bard. You have responsibilities. We can't have you bleeding to death on the eve of a siege. Come," she pulled him to a side street, hoping to reach her old officine in relative ease.

* * *

They did reach the small officine, but the sight they were given in that part of the city was quite the surprise. Women, children and elderly alike had been gathered there for their safety, and when they saw their Prince and Baraz appear, they all rose and began chanting the war cry of their people. One that had been, once upon a time, the cry of Esgaroth, Lake-Town.

Baraz stood there, frozen, as perhaps hundreds of people honoured her. She did not know how to react, but the blush that rose to her cheeks told far too much.

Her hand found Bard's, and she pulled him a bit harsher towards the small building, entering and locking the door behind them.

"Why do you look so embarrassed?" the prince asked as soon as a couple of candles were lit.

Baraz paid him no mind for a moment, choosing to gather medicinal supplies instead, but as he was still staring at her, waiting for an answer, she had to humour him. "I am no leader. I am noone."

"_Baraz_," he started, something in his blue eyes that wasn't totally the reflection of the flames, "you _are _someone. You are a Half-Dwarf, one of the few that ever existed. You can speak elvish, count Hobbits, Wizards and Eagles as your friends. You have lead us to battle, and we live."

Once again, she found herself speechless. The Prince of Dale had spoken with such...passion, about her that she felt altogether crowded in the little room. Suddenly aware that she was a woman and he a man, Baraz felt that she needed to leave. She did not know why, but she did.

Pressing a strongly fragrant paste to his wound, then a clean cloth, Baraz sighed and turned away. "You all think I am someone I am not. You, your father...the Elves..."

"_No_." came the firm answer. She felt Bard stand, and when he stood close enough for her to feel his body-warmth, he gently turned her around so she faced him again. "Everyone fails in something during their lives. Whatever failure you feel you are responsible for, think again. A whole city is still standing thanks to you."

"Bard, I arrived _two days ago_..." she started, but he shushed her with a shake of head. The fire in his eyes was back, and somehow, Baraz found herself entranced by them, as if she would drown in them...

And the horn of Dale blew in the distance.

* * *

The horn and alarms bells rang almost non-stop from that day during the week that followed. The Easterlings, emboldened by the losses already sustained by Elves, Men and Dwarves, tried several times to break the Southern Gate, mostly at night. So far, arrows and cauldrons of hot water had managed to push them away every time.

The different factions organized the siege of Dale and Erebor in different ways. The Men of Dale were almost spartan in their way of rationing food. Even women and elderly refused the food they were offered, preferring a much more frugal meal to sate their basic needs. This helped saving another week's worth of grain and bread.

The Elves who had survived the attack - Fíriel not being among them - had settled down in one of the central courtyards and were helping different lores: most were providing arrows for the archers of Dale and their own bows; and a few versed in healing helped Queen Talia and her healers take care of the wounded and ill.

The Dwarves of Erebor, on their side, had decided to hide inside their Mountain for as long as was required. Dain, angered by Baraz' insults, had fortified the Front Gate in case Dale was to fall, and so far, refused to come to Dale's aid when the Easterlings threaned to pierce the heavy dwarven doors of the city.

King Brand was seen every day with his men. He organized the troops and fired arrows with the long-bow that had belonged to his grand-father, no crown on his head, nothing more than the crest of his forebears visible on his leather jerkin. His family was the parangon of the siege: his wife and daughter were among the healers; and his heir was constantly trying to push back the enemy they had made the mistake of luring in.

Baraz was busier than ever during that week. One day she was with the Queen and the healers; another Brand was needing her help pushing back the Easterlings from the weakened Gate; one other night she, Bard and a few of the Elves went over the wall to gather what was left from the elven camp - supplies, weapons, Baraz' cloak, and some lembas bread that was most welcome in this hour of need.

Her thoughts often went to the Prince's actions in her officine, and she always found herself blushing at the thought. Bard had seemed taken with her since the moment they had met, but since that moment, every gaze they shared seemed more powerful, more meaningful. She did not know what it meant and what emotion it brought in her, but she was not going to let it distract her from the war at hand.

* * *

On the morning of the tenth day of March, Baraz was once again helping Queen Talia and Princess Sigrid distributing the rations for the day when Bard came barging in the City Hall, bow in hand and stern look in place.

"Lady Baraz, your presence is required at the Palace."

He was seldom formal with her anymore, and his tone made her raise a brow. She exchanged a curious look with the Queen, who nodded gravely and let her leave. Baraz grabbed her own bow and sheathed her daggers before following the Prince.

"What is this about?" she asked once they were in the crowded street.

His eyes were darkened with a shadow she could not place, although it looked a lot like anger. "King Dain had called on Father. He and his generals mean to attack after all."

She huffed. "Stupid. They are going to get slaughtered."

"That's why Father asked for you."

Baraz gritted her teeth in slight annoyance. She knew that Brand valued her council more than most of is generals, and she was grateful, but she doubted that Dain, or his son Thorin for that matter, would appreciate her presence after what had happened a week prior. Still, she followed and straightened her tunic and braid.

Bard looked at her, a smirk on his lips. "I don't think you'll need that to impress anyone, my lady." She launched him a falsely angry stare, and both chuckled before entering the palace, which had for the time-being been requisitioned as a hospital for those of the Lower Town who had been evacuated. Only the upper levels were still used by the royal family.

* * *

When they entered Brand's office on the second floor, and despite the Dwarves natural small stature, the room looked crowded. Baraz could not help a smile when she recognized the blonde heads of her uncle Kíli and Fíli at his side. As royal blood, they always had a chair at Dain's counsel-table.

Said monarch looked at her arrival with wide eyes and a rage that did not take long to rise. "What is she doing here?" he shouted. "I will not speak with a half-breed elf-lover who insulted me!"

Baraz regarded the man with a high chin. Kíli looked at her proudly, Fíli looked as if it was the best day of his life, and Brand...well Brand smirked. A perfect mirror of his son in that instance, but no less an uncharacteristic gesture for someone who had always been bent on showing respect to his neighbours.

"Lady Baraz is acting as my Royal Councellor. I'm afraid she has to stay. But if His Majesty is importuned by her presence, maybe He would like to wait outside."

Dain looked outraged, as did his son and two or three of his generals, but none moved. Brand was, in his own way, hinting at the fact that there was an army at their door and that personal feuds had little place in the room at that moment.

The tension slowly lifted, and Baraz took her place at Bard's left next to his father.

Brand gestured at the map in front of him. "So far, we have managed to lure them mostly to the Southern Gate, as Lady Baraz had predicted-" several noises of annoyance among the Dwarves, "-but the Gate is growing weaker by the day. I fear we cannot hold that long."

Dain roared. "Let's open the Gate and let them flood in then! We'll welcome them with our axes!"

Kíli, who had not always been the picture of wisdom but who had learnt much from the Battle of the Five Armies, raised his voice. "Perhaps it would be better to let them break it instead of letting them in. They would know we are waiting for them." Dain grunted but nodded, understanding the better plan behind the words.

Brand nodded. "Yes, this way they would have to come in less numbers than on an open field." He glanced at Baraz who nodded sharply once, signifying she agreed with the plan. Although she really did not like to have the last word in this. "We should, though, for security measures, evacuate our women and children further away from the battle. Could you take them to the Mountain?"

Dain exchanged a harsh look with his son. Thorin hated Men, all knew it, but strangely enough, it was he who answered. "They'll be safe there. But no pointy-eared bastard will be allowed in."

Baraz spoke up. "Those pointy-eared bastards, my dear Thorin, are under my charge. They will all be in battle. As was agreed when their King sent them to our aid." Dain groaned in anger again, but as most of his men seemed to agree with her, he did not answer. However difficult the relationship between Dwarves and Elves had always been, it didn't change the fact that, indeed, they had come to the Mountain's aid.

Brand moved a piece on his map. "Then it is agreed. We will wait for the enemy to break in, and will welcome them with iron and steel as we do best."

Bard then looked up. "How many men do you have?"

Dain looked at the Prince but, deciding he was not showing disrespect in his enquiry, he hummed as if counting. "Five thousand, I'd say. And that is counting the warrior dwarrowdams."

Baraz smirked. Many things could be said about Durin's people, but one thing was for sure: their women were as fierce warriors as their men, and were respected as such. The King of Dale and his son nodded in appreciation.

"We have yet a chance to survive this." Brand concluded.

* * *

The meeting was dismissed, and Baraz moved to meet with her uncle and friend. Both remained back to share words with her.

"How is Da?" was her first question, for she had not seen Bofur since she had left the Mountain a week before.

Kíli smiled. "He is well. Preparing for battle, of course, as are all the companions of the Quest." Baraz smiled back. Yes, she doubted there was anything that could stop Dwalin, Nori and even her uncle Bombur to join in the fun. However dangerous. In fact, for those crazy Dwarves, the more dangerous it was, the more fun also. "You are doing very well here, Baraz."

She shared a look with her uncle. He was serious, and even had a glint of pride in his green eyes. She bowed the head slightly. "I had good teachers."

He huffed and took his son by the shoulder. "Come now, son, let's leave Lady Baraz to her King and Prince. We shall meet on the battlefield." He winked and both left.

Baraz stared after them. Yes, they would meet on the battlefield, but at what cost? And her dear, gentle, aging father, would he come out of this alive?

Would any of them?

* * *

_A/N: I have an admission to make. When I started this story I did not intend to throw in any romance other than the silly crush Baraz has on Legolas when they meet. But Bard king of grew on me as his great-grand-father did (Luke Evans, stop being this perfect, it's annoying) and it kind of wrote itself. And if I have ONE THING to promise you, it's that this romance will not be dull. :)_

_Happy New Year in the meantime, and see you guys in 2016!_


	24. 23, The cost of war

_A/N: Hello readers! I am back and I think you will like what I have in store for you guys. ;) Today's chapter is, after all, nothing else than the first part of the Battle of Dale, with its casualties and action. :P_

_I hope you like it despite its shortness: there was nothing else to add._

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **The Siege of Gondor from The Return of the King OST and Sons of Durin from The Battle of the Five Armies OST._

* * *

**23\. The cost of war**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**20th March**_

* * *

Another week passed, and the siege did not evolve. The Easterlings, while still regurlarly launching attacks on the Southern Gate of Dale, did not move in great numbers against the city of Men.

Baraz, Brand and even the thick-headed Dain all understood quite quickly that their enemies were actually waiting for orders coming from the East. They did not move more than necessary, preferring to tire the besieged, and soon, scouts could see their generals discussing together as if waiting for something.

The week passed in a rather tense atmosphere, Dale and Erebor waiting for the moment when their foe would receive the order and would launch its whole army against their walls. Anticipation was even worse than the actual battle.

On the morrow of the 17th day of March, the Enemy eventually received word from its evil master. A horn blew high and hard in the sunrise, and Dale awoke to battle rams moving to their weakened Gate.

Baraz and Bard, along with the remaining Elves, awoke to the sound of the horn as they rested in their designated courtyard, close to the wall giving on the South.

One chestnut-haired Elleth walked up to Baraz as soon as the sound faded in the wind. Her name was Taenya, and she had taken the lead of the Elves after Fíriel's fall. Although all had pledged their bows and swords to Baraz soon after. "_Aier-arwen, mani naa lye umien?_" _**Lady Aier, what are we doing?**_

Baraz gritted her teeth and took her elven bow, nodding to Bard who did the same. "Now, _mellon-nîn_, we fight."

The Elleth nodded gravely and launched a clear '_Khila he!_' _**Follow her!**_, that shook the Earth with its intensity.

* * *

Dale was on the eve of the biggest battle it had known since the Battle of Five Armies. Those who had known it, mostly among the Dwarves, were waiting in anticipation of a foe greater and smarter than the Orcs and Goblins that had attacked them in the old days.

The sun rose fully in the sky, and as Baraz and her regiment took their post on top of the wall, they saw the big ram being slowly directed towards the Southern Gate. Behind which hid Dain, Brand and their best close-fighters. The archers of Dale had been sent to the roofs and towers, where they could see most of their foes. And the Dwarves' mounted guard was waiting in the Higher Town for their King's command to come trample the Easterlings that would dare to enter their walls. Even the archebuses of Erebor had been readied for war. Those who'd remain in the Mountain with the women and children of Dale were in charge of firing them. Among them stood Uncle Nori.

When the horn of the East resounded a second time, the ram started its dark deed on the Southern Gate. At the same time, Baraz and Bard witnessed a rather impressive part of the army directing itself to the West and to the less-guarded Gate there. She looked over at Taenya, and asked of her to redirect a portion of their archers there. The Elleth took their lead.

"Those bastards have had time to watch us." Bard sneered.

Baraz nodded gravely. "Yes, they have. Let's hope we still are the most clever of the two parties." She notched an arrow as the ram cracked the door once, then a second time. The third, the dwarven wooden door broke open, splinters flying everywhere as a sea of Easterlings entered the city.

The armies of Dale had prepared for this for a week. They had blocked any advance further than the courtyard lying right behind the Gate with stone, carts, old weapons, anything they could spare. So the enemy could not enter in the numbers they had hoped, and found itself cornered.

Baraz launched a clear 'Fire!' in the morning air, and a volley of arrows flew from the wall and the closest rooftops, raining onto the badly-armoured men who fell like a group of dolls. Some survived long enough for the kings' men to finish them with their swords, but most died instantly.

Another group of Easterlings forced the Gate, but was received with the same treatment. When the third wave arrived, though, Brand, Dain and their guard erupted from behind the barricade and received them with closer weapons, pushing them back onto the steep bridge they had forced themselves on.

Baraz, Bard and the Elves fired their mortal shafts onto the foe below, realising that this, despite its easy start, would not be as easy as they had hoped. The enemy was too numerous, their forces too important. When one man fell, three took his place.

* * *

The first day passed this way, with arrows and steel, and when the sun set and the Easterlings retreated back to their camp, Dale still stood. But not for much longer.

Mistaking their foe's retreat for a small victory, the armies of Dale and Erebor retreated themselves, certain that the Easterlings would not attack at night.

How wrong they were.

In the dead of night, when the clocks struck midnight, they entered the city again, silent as a breeze, their knives working a bloody path among Men and Dwarves until one survived long enough to raise the alarm. That first night, a heavy blow was already dealt to the resisting armies.

After two days, the Lower Town fell. Dain, Brand and the archers retreated closer to the Royal Palace, emptied of any poor soul, sent to the Mountain for safe-keeping.

Baraz, Bard and the Elves had long before run out of arrows, and had resolved to fight alongside their monarchs, sword and daggers in hand instead of bows.

The battle took a turn for the worst on the third day.

* * *

Baraz was assigned to Bard's safety by his father, but both had agreed not to steer too far from either he or Dain, in case they, too, needed help. Baraz could see her Uncle Kíli fighting alongisde Thorin, Fíli standing behind his father who protected him with his body.

Baraz had never been really good with a blade in her hand, but forced to close-fighting by the crowded courtyard, she found herself being efficient enough. Her daggers often found the default in one foe's armour, and if not, she struck in the face or sent said foe to the blade of Bard.

Both found they were fighting together in a well-learnt dance. Although they had never trained together, their implied wish to keep the other alive made them excellent partners. But it did not stop the sea of Easterlings that flew from all sides, cornering their forces to one particular point near the Nothern Gate of Dale. Back to the closed Gate, Men and Dwarves had one choice and one only: kill to not be killed.

When the sun struck its highest point, Baraz felt a dread fill her veins as she remembered the scene she had seen in Lady Galadriel's mirror. She could see Kíli and Thorin fighting, Fíli hidden by a group of Dwarves; Dain and Brand fighting side-by-side, and in the middle, the Elves, falling one by one like the leaves they so loved. When Taenya fell, Baraz felt a wave of ice wash over her, and only Bard's arm pushing her out of the way prevented her from being struck by an enemy's blade.

They were losing.

* * *

Pulling the prince with her, Baraz decided to climb the wall and open the door, offering a retreat to the Mountain. In the guard's lodge, she found a quiver of long arrows, and felt that it was fate calling to her. After she dealt the final blow to the rope holding the Gate closed, she grabbed the quiver and wrapped it around her shoulders grabbing a bow with it.

Bard jumped a good part of the way down, helping a group of his father's men who had been cornered to the wall. Baraz stood in the middle of the stairs, notching and aiming at nothing when her eyes fell on the scene before her.

In the middle of the courtyard, Brand, King of Dale, had fallen, his throat slit open by a curved dagger; Dain, King of Erebor, protecting his bloodied corpse with his war-hammer. She released one shaft as an Easterling managed to strike the Dwarf in the thigh, then another as Dain received a blow to the head, removing his battered helm.

"_Thanu men!_" she heard then, and saw the sturdy figure of Thorin erupting from below her, his sword held high just as his father fell to the assaults of no less than four Easterlings. _**My King!**_

He was running to his own demise.

* * *

Baraz notched again and protected the dwarven prince as best as she could even as the blonde head of her uncle followed his prince, drawing a path of death within the ranks of his foes. Kíli was as fearsome a warrior as his own uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, had been, and many a head turned as he did his deed. Just as people would follow their leader.

Thorin Stonehelm had almost reached his fallen father when Kíli yanked him back, shouting at him in Khuzdûl, although Baraz could not catch his words from that far off. She carried on firing her arrows, protecting both dwarven princes, until they reached the wall safely.

Then one clear shout. "_Father!_" One cry of anguish. Baraz could not see Fíli, but her heart stopped beating when she understood what certainly had just happened. She ran down the stairs and jumped in the middle of warriors who barely had the time to let her pass before she pushed them aside, unsheathing her daggers until she reached the place where Fíli was slumped against one lifeless body. One whose chest was marred with stabbing wounds.

Kíli.

Baraz' voice joined her friend's as she, too, cried her pain to the skies. She struck all the foes that she could reach, protecting what little life there still was on this wretched battlefield. Already, Dwarves and Men were retreating, most of them trying to salvage bodies from where they had fallen. Baraz numbly saw two Men carry away the body of their King; and knew Dain's corpse would soon follow.

Then her thoughts went to Bard, and she decided that no more blood would be spilled that day. She notched one of the last arrows she had saved and drew a path within the enemies until she reached where Bard and Thorin fought back to back, surrounded by enemies. She managed to grab Bard first, pushing him harshly towards the Gate and safety, and the prince complied, eyes veiled with the adrenaline and sadness that had come with this battle.

Thorin had somehow found his father's hammer, and was battering everyone around him until one blade slashed across his face, opening another wound to join the already angry scar that he sported.

The Dwarf faltered but did not fall, and when Baraz flew to his aid, her daggers protecting his hammer in a deadly and fiery dance, the Easterlings retreated a notch. Baraz was a fearsome sight to the eyes. Her red hair, matted with blood, was flying behind her in a deadly curtain that hid her blades from her foes' eyes; and her lips were turned in a snarl as she avenged the brave warriors who had fallen.

Thorin then exclaimed "_Azbadu men! Khayamu!_"_** My lady! To victory! **_and Baraz slowed down until she realised that the Dwarves who had not left the scene had regrouped behind them both, as if rallied by their leaders.

"_Khayum thane!_" they all chanted, and the Easterlings that remained ran away in a disarray of limps and wounds. _**Victory to the King!**_

Baraz let her arms drop, and realised something.

Dale had fallen, but they had not lost the war.


	25. 24, The scars of fire

_A/N: Hello hello! Big news! This chapter sucks! XD I mean, this war pretty much sucks, so, you know, everyone gets...pretty much...screwed. So, if youliked last chapter's action, don't think that this is the end of it. Far. From. It. ;)_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Pride of the Dwarves from the Battle for Middle-Earth II OST; Fire and Water from the Battle of the Five Armies OST._

* * *

**24\. The scars of fire**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**27th March**_

* * *

Baraz ran back to the Mountain as fast as she could, scarily aware of the grime and blood that matted her hair and clothes. She could feel a wound to her forehead and the sticky sensation of drying blood on her cheek, but none of that mattered.

As soon as she, Thorin and the dozen warriors who had stayed behind with them passed the Front Door of Erebor, the doors were sealed, leaving only a wall on top of which already stood soldiers, cauldrons and archebuses at the ready.

One of the first people she saw as she entered the Mountain for the first time in weeks was Princess Sigrid. She was tending to a Dwarf's maimed arm, skin pale and eyes red. Baraz understood that the young girl had heard of or seen her father's body, and yet she was still standing, a true portrait of duty and courage.

Baraz stepped further inside, dimly aware of what surrounded her. Wounded warriors of the three races - only four Elves had survived, and even they were harmed enough that they were not sure to live - families crying over lost ones, and fresh-ish warriors preparing for the next part of the battle.

When she heard her name the first time, Baraz did not hear it. Nor the second time. Only when a hand was gently placed over her arm did she realise who was standing next to her, relief and yet grief in his grey eyes.

She embraced her father absent-mindedly, wondering if that was how her mother had felt on the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies. Empty, tired, alone.

"Baraz, come. We are giving hommage to Kíli." Bofur gently steered his daughter away from the Hall and into a side corridor leading to more personal and private quarters. She barely realised she was being taken to Kíli's own quarters until they reached it.

* * *

The Prince of Erebor, Kíli, son of Dís and Fenrir, had been laid down on his bed, his sword in his hand, blood washed from his handsome face. He looked peaceful, if it wasn't for the paleness of his skin and the cries of his son and friends around him.

The members of the Quest had lost their last prince. Even the steely Gloin was shedding silent tears. Nori and his brother Dori were silently weeping, gripping each other tightly as if it would dim their pain. Dwalin was standing next to the bed, looking older than Baraz had ever seen him in her life. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, and he was squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from escaping.

Bofur went to stand by his brother Bombur, who was nursing his left arm in a sling. Baraz patted her uncle's shoulder before joining the smaller form standing in defeat and grief next to the bed.

Fíli's hand found hers without he needing to look. He was staring at his father's face as if he would awaken any moment. His blue eyes were wet but no tear was visible on his cheeks. His blonde hair had been unbraided and hung lazily over his shoulders.

"Fil," she started, her voice hoarse with pain as she pushed away the tears that pricked her eyes, "he died a hero. As should have been."

He looked up at her and the corners of his mouth lifted in a silent agreement. Baraz knew that no words could soothe his pain though, because none did hers.

She contemplated the scene around her and the own pain in her heart. She had known loss these last few months. Gandalf, Boromir, Frodo, Merry, Pippin... Her Uncles Balin, Oin and Ori... The pain had never really had time to receed from her chest, and yet this one was even stronger.

Kíli had always been there, a pillar on which she could lean, for years. First when he was still living in the Blue Mountains and she and Bofur visited, he taught her the ways of the dwarvish bow. Then in Erebor he protected her from Dain and his counsellors, binding her to his family through Fíli and sheer willpower. And even then, at the eve of the battle that would change their fates, he had trusted her to lead them all to victory.

Middle-Earth had lost a great man that day.

* * *

The hommage lasted little less than an hour when another figure joined in the silent scene.

Thorin had been seen to, the gash on his face fresh and angry-looking, but not bloody anymore. He had shed his armour and was wearing more casual clothes, but the frown on his face was not one for casual conversation.

He came to stand by Fíli and exchanged quiet words in Khuzdûl with him, words that will not be translated for they are sacred and private. Then he leaned over Kíli's form and bowed the head in respect.

Finally he turned to the company and cleared his throat. "Kíli son of Fenrir saved my life today. It will not be forgotten." Many bowed the head at him, quietly acknowledging his claim to the throne more than they had done after Thorin Oakenshield's death.

Even Baraz bowed the head at him. But was surprised when he stopped next to her and asked her to follow him out. She exchanged a glance with her father who tried a small smile of encouragement, and straightened the string of her bow around her shoulders before following.

"Baraz Bofurdottir," Thorin started as soon as they were away from prying eyes. He was looking at her in awe, as if seeing her for the first time, "you have impressed me today. You rallied armies behind your bow and saved thousands. Thank you."

Baraz stared at the man blankly, as if she wasn't really there. Thorin and her had always had a difficult relationship, not helped by the horrible scar that disfigured him. They had always been against the other and yet, that day, they had fought side by side, and he had called her 'Azbadu men', 'My Lady', acknowledging her dwarven blood.

When he carried on, she couldn't help the slight tumble in her step.

"When this is over and I am crowned to success my father, if I do," he added in a grim tone, "I would like you to join my Council. In your own right."

Baraz did not, could not, answer, at least not until she found her voice again. "Thank you, _Thanu men_, but...I cannot-"

"You can, and will, _Azbad Baraz Gazardul_." _**Lady Baraz the Wise.**_

Baraz smiled a little at the nickname he had just given her, a title in its right mind, Thorin's own way to forgive past feuds and honour she who had saved his life on the battlefield. When the future King of the Mountain walked away, she suddenly felt lighter.

* * *

The dead were given proper burial in the dead of night. Dwarves in the Mountain, Men out in the fields that separated the lost city and the solitary peak.

Baraz met with Lady Talia and Princess Sigrid, sharing their pain at having lost Brand, and helped with the wounded. One of the Elves died in her arms and to a song for the stars she gently sung in her best singing voice.

Two days passed before the Easterlings attacked once more. Their rams battered against the side of the Lonely Mountain, but the Dwarves' work was tougher than anything they had encountered, and many fell to the boiling oil and stones being hurled down the battlement.

Thorin had taken the lead of his army easily, what remained of his father's generals having all pledged their lives to him. So far, the dwarven army was the only one who was still fighting, since their knowledge of the Mountain was far better than the Men's.

The citizens of Dale helped where they could. One of the food supplies had been lost with the city, and the rations were even tighter and smaller than before, but no one dared complaining. The able made arrows and spears out of any wood they found; others mended armours as best as they could. Most helped in the makeshift infirmary.

For four days, Baraz did not see Bard.

* * *

She had found that the wound she had dealt to her head would leave a faint scar, proof of her commitment to this battle, and had not minded it too much.

She had spent most of her time with Queen Talia, helping the wounded recover, until, on the morning of the 24th day of March, her name was called as she was walking to her uncle's kitchens, which were used to boil water and sterilize tools mainly.

"Baraz!" came the hoarse and grim voice of the Prince of Dale - although, now, he could be called King.

She turned around, putting down the basin she had been carrying when she noticed him hurrying her way. He sported fresh cuts on his hands, as if he had just been to battle, and she took one gingerly with a scowl. "Where have you been?"

"Some of my men and I snuck in the city to save what we could from the fight." He was whispering, eyes trailed on hers, blue swallowed by the amber of the torches next to him. "We fell on a couple of those bastards doing the same."

The Battle of Dale had hardened him, Baraz realised as she stared at him. When she had met him, he was smiling all the time, joking, flirting even; and then, his eyes were hard and grave. She did not answer and released his hand gently.

"I found this in the courtyard, and thought you'd like it back." Bard produced something from his jerkin, and Baraz' fingers flew to her neck, eyes locked to the broken chain in his hand.

"My mother's ring!" she said before taking the item from him. It was a bit dirty but there was no mistaking the copy of Nenya. She cradled it in her hand, feeling suddenly very sad, and looked up at him with glistening eyes. "Thank you."

Bard stared at her for a moment, seeming on the brink to say something. Then, out of the blue, he slowly wrapped an arm around Baraz' waist and brought her closer. He kept looking at her and her at him, as if he was silently asking permission before he leaned down and softly put his lips on hers.

Baraz had never been kissed in her life, or not by anyone who mattered. Her sloppy kisses with some of the Hobbit lads when she was a child merely counted. So when her eyes fluttered closed and her hand went to Bard's neck, she knew that her body was sending her a message.

There also was that same fluttering somewhere in her chest that made her gasp before she pressed her lips more firmly on his.

Bard did not push her, nor did he deepen the kiss. It was a mere touch of lips, gentle and yet desperate, that both needed in that moment.

When they parted, Baraz' eyes were no longer full of tears but full of questions. He looked at her with something in their blue that she could not place and then whispered "Be safe, lady of mine" before he walked away.

Maybe that was one instance when a small moment of war could bring peace to one's soul. Anyway, it did bring peace to Baraz' heart. If only for a few hours.

* * *

The following day, the Easterlings changed strategy. Noting that they would probably never bring down the heavy doors of Durin, they had taken back their battle rams, and instead, had brought catapults of another kind.

Baraz was summoned atop the wall by Thorin in the dawn of day, and as she stood next to the armoured monarch, she could see machinery like she had never seen, made of both wood and steel, advance upon them, torches and barrels of tar following close.

She turned to the Dwarf, absently noticing her uncle Dwalin standing close. "They mean to set fire to the Mountain."

Thorin grunted. "They can try."

Baraz felt the same pang of dread that had accompanied every choice of his father Dain when they had been preparing for this war. She prayed any Valar who would listen that Thorin was not as stubborn as he had once been when she said clearly, "Wouldn't it be safer to empty the halls for now, make sure that there would be no useless casualties?" She pointedly looked over her shoulder upon the hall that still served mostly as an infirmary.

Thorin followed her gaze and grunted again, this time in acknowledgment. "You are right." And he left without another word.

Baraz turned back to the plain before her eyes and the machines being prepared for yet another battle. Dwalin came to her side, his wrinkled yet stern face grave. "I do 'ope this stops soon. Me bones are tired of this scum."

She chuckled darkly. "There is no foretelling the future, Uncle."

"Don' say that, lass. We both know one who can." He winked at her and Baraz realised that he, too, had met an Elf who could foresee the future. Lord Elrond in his case, Lady Galadriel in hers. That he was not talking about the great Half-Elf with any ounce of sarcasm was an improvement.

Both remained atop the wall for a moment yet, then Baraz turned on her heels and took her leave. "I shall help Lady Talia move her supplies."

* * *

Dwarves and Men alike were running around, carrying what bundle of water they could find to extinguish the blaze that had taken hold of Erebor.

Baraz was running around, feeling the most useless she had ever been, feeling the raging heat around her that almost singed her skin from where she stood. She could hear the anguished cries of people eaten away by the flames where the tar had set them ablaze, could see the wall protecting their now tomb being taken in a wave of orange and bright yellow.

She could see Thorin, having shed his armour, yelling orders at the few Dwarves who could still manoeuver their archebuses in this heat. She saw a shaft being fired upon the plain, then the archebuse being taken by a ball of hell. She let out a yelp and protected her face from the sparks that flew down.

"_Baraz!_" she heard her name faintly over the raging fire. She searched for the voice, and saw Bard, carrying an obsolete pail in his hands. He dropped it on the ground and hurried to her side, blue eyes crazed with worry. "What are you doing here? You are standing too close!" He eyed the wall and winced when another salve of fire rained over their heads in tiny sparks.

Baraz took hold of his hand and tried to pull him away. "Go, Bard, you cannot stay here, you are too important!"

He tutted and pulled her along as well, away from the offending wall. "Don't be stupid."

Baraz gazed over her shoulder, watching as the last archebuse standing fired yet another of its deadly arrows into the plain, saw Thorin's muted cry of victory, and then a smaller ball of fire passing over the wall and flying right in their direction.

"_Bard!_" she yelled in anguish, and pushed the prince-king out of the way of the flames before screaming in pain when she felt the searing heat taking hold of her head. She battled against it for a moment, burning her hands as she did, and then the pain was too much. She was barely aware of a pair of hands taking hold of her before she saw fire and blacked out.

* * *

"-alright. The shock and pain was a little too much, that is all."

Baraz heard the muted voice as if from under a pillow, and grunted feebly and she regained consciousness. She felt strangely numb and...thick...in some places, without being able to place the feeling.

There was a gasp not far - although it could have been a million miles away - and then cold hands touched the bottom of her face and her cheeks. "You are awake!" she heard, and realised it was Sigrid.

She tried to sit up in the bed she had placed upon, and when she tried to remember why she was there, she suddenly remembered - the fire, the flames, the _pain _\- and shuddered in remembrance.

"Easy, Baraz. You've been unconscious for enough time to be careful."

Baraz opened her mouth, feeling some kind of cloth over it that brushed over her lips as she formed the words "How long?" in a hoarse voice that did not really belong to her.

Sigrid answered with a sigh. "Two days. We are on the evening of the 27th."

Baraz paused from her efforts to sit up. She had been unconscious to days, and yet apparently she was still in the Mountain. They had not lost yet. Then she realised that she could not open her eyes, and said in a clearer voice "I can't see."

It was not Sigrid who answered, but a much lighter tone laced with sarcasm, "What would you expect from being burnt alive, eh?"

Baraz turned to locate the voice, a small smile forming on her lips. "Fil?"

"Unfortunately, I was assigned to your death bed by your Da. He's overseeing the rebuilding of the Gates down in Dale." Sensing perhaps that the news was too much for Baraz to bear without asking questions, he added, "Get better then we'll explain. I shall inform Uncle Bofur you've awaken." She heard a shuffling then felt a pair of lips on her cheek before he exited the room.

Baraz longed to know what had happened in Erebor since the fire. If her father was in Dale, then had they won the battle at last? Had the Easterlings all been defeated? She needed answers, but Sigrid tutted and pushed her back onto the pillows. "Later," the princess said, and she had almost as much authority in her tone than her fearsome mother.

So later it would be.

* * *

During the night, Baraz asked her nurse if she could take the bandages off her eyes. She wanted to see her carer. Sigrid pondered for a moment, then agreed.

Her hands were soft and gentle as she undid the knot at the back of her head, then pulled the fabric gently from her skin. Baraz winced several times when the cloth took with it fresh skin, but she knew the gravity of burns, and did not expect to still be unflawed when her wounds would have healed.

"There. Don't touch, though."

Baraz could feel the weight of the linen gone from before her eyes, and opened one then two very slowly. The candles that lit the room burnt her pupils for a second, then she realised where she was. "Filí's room?"

Sigrid nodded and Baraz could look at her, in her white nurse dress, and not a black dress as the traditional mourning asked of her. "Yes, he insisted. He's sharing with your father as I understand it."

Baraz knew her cousin's stubborness was as fierce as he was from the line of Durin, but was grateful to be surrounded by familiar belongings.

She watched with a smile as her father strode inside for the second time since she had awakened, bringing with him water and a meal no doubt prepared by her uncle Bombur. He stared at her for a split second then winked. "Not as bad as I'd though'."

Baraz' brow rose and she turned to Sigrid. "Can I see?"

The princess sighed but nodded. "Don't touch!" she chastised as she found a small mirror to give her patient. Baraz place it before her and raised it slowly, first seeing her unscarred mouth and cheeks, then raising it to discovered two singed eyebrows and a faintly scarred forehead.

No, the worst part of her injuries lay on top of her head. The whole left part of her hair had been burnt almost to the roots, cut hastily by whomever had treated her first. The red tendrils fell in horrid strands that barely covered the bright red skin of her skull. She looked like a sick elderly woman.

Bofur gently pushed her hands down so she could not see herself anymore. "It'll heal and grow back." As he said that last part, there was a seriousness in his voice that she would understand only later.

* * *

"Da," she asked weakly, "what's happened to Erebor?"

Bofur squeezed her hands - which bore faint burns themselves, but less grave - and smiled. "Mordor 'as fallen. In the afternoon of tha' day, we 'eard a big explosion, and looked to the East. We could see the smoke from 'ere, couldn' we lass?" he asked Sigrid who did not really need to answer. "The Easterlings lost 'eart, and left in disarray in the night. We won!" He smiled wider.

Baraz smiled too, at awe about how simple it had been to win this war. Then her thoughts went to Mordor and the possible reason for its fall, and she suddenly lost all colour in her face. Her lips silently formed the name of a friend gone far away with a heavy burden and a loyal gardener, and she prayed for a moment.

Then she blushed furiously and cursed herself for asking this question in presence of her father. She looked at Sigrid and asked, "Where's Bard?"

The princess smile sadly, and answered "Hunting the rest of them. With King Thorin."

Baraz nodded and turned to her father, who was eyeing her strangely. She smiled again, although it did not reach her eyes, and demanded the rest of the tale. Bofur happily complied.


	26. 25, From the ashes

_A/N: Hello readers! I would like to thank those of you who are still leaving reviews, it really means the world to me considering the hours I work on each chapter... :) This one is kind of a filler, a transition between Erebor and Minas Tirith, but I think you will appreciate the theme anyway. Enjoy!_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Courage and Wisdom from the Battle of the Five Armies OST; and The Departure of Boromir from the Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**25\. From the ashes**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**2nd April**_

* * *

Baraz stood at the entrance of the Mountain, the river running beside her, the sun playing on her face as she watched the city of Dale being rebuilt. A fresh breeze ran over her, ruffling the poor short strands of hair that still stood on her head, and she sighed.

The war was over, they said. They had won, and Sauron was dead. And yet, after the initial relief she had felt when her father had told her the tale of their victory, Baraz felt as if the biggest of trials was still ahead. She could not shake the feeling, and sometimes, she wished to be in Loríen again to be able to ask the Fair Lady about it.

But no Elf was there to answer her questions. The two survivors had left for their forest two days prior, escorted by four of Bard's men. Some said that Mirkwood had known severe casualties during their assault against Dol Guldur, but Thranduil still stood like a millenia-old tree immoveable and stubborn as could be.

Most of Dale's inhabitants had by then moved back to their ruined city. Families shared with siblings, uncles, aunts or grand-parents when houses had been destroyed, and all the able, women and children alike, helped in the rebuilding, helped by the Dwarves who brought their sturdy materials and expertise.

Only a handful had remained, among which Queen Talia and Princess Sigrid. They still had a good dozen patients to tend to and who could not be moved, and the palace in Dale had suffered too much damage for the royal family to move back in so soon.

So Baraz stood, her eyes catching the still visible cloud of smoke that rose in the East even a week after Mount Doom's eruption, and she hoped that the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach was nothing more than a hunch.

* * *

"_Azbadu men..._" rose a voice from behind her, and Baraz turned, bowing the head slightly at the young Dwarf who had sneaked on her. She recognized the son of Frír, although she could not remember his name. "Our King wishes to see you at the Council table."

"I will go promptly. Thank you." She looked one last time into the sunlit day of early Spring, and wished once more that she could take a pony and escape into the greatness of the world instead of staying inside a Mountain that she felt far from. But she followed the youngling, and straightened her attire before she entered the Council room.

Fíli had helped her cut the rest of her singed hair into a more acceptable cut. On the left side of her head, still on the mend though hair was already growing back, it was cut short in the manner of some Men; on the right side, it reached her shoulder and had been braided at the base of her skull into the braids of her own household. _Gazardu_. _**The Wise-One**_. Her own title.

When she entered the room, she realised that there was more people than usual. Thorin was conversing with Bard, who had brought with him some of Dale's elders; Fíli was deep in thought in his chair, surrounded by Glóin and Dwalin; and Dori and Nori were there, although not part of the King's usual suite.

In fact, as she soon realised, only the Dwarves who had Durin's blood running in their veins were there.

* * *

"Ah, Lady Baraz," Thorin said once he spotted her. "We were one short." He gestured her to her chair, which used to be Kíli's, and once she was seated, Fíli's hand finding hers in reassurance, he and the rest of the guests sat as well.

Bard, who was seated at Thorin's left and one chair across from her, stared at Baraz intently, a small smile gracing his lips. Baraz ignored his blue eyes and stared blankly at the table. Now was not the time for flirting with a king.

"My lords and lady, I have asked you here today because we have received word from the South." Thorin produced a parchment that he lay on the table before him. "Minas Tirith has a king at last. The line of Elendil has gone back to his dwellings."

Baraz' head rose at that. She wondered for a moment if the king in question was who she thought, and a certain bubble of pride rose in her at the same time.

"The king is called Elessar, and apparently was a companion of our _Azbad Gazardu_." Thorin looked at her with a small smirk.

Baraz' growing brows rose. "I do not know a Man called Elessar. I know one called Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, and if it is him you are talking about, then no other soul has deserved this crown more than him."

Thorin nodded. "It is indeed him. It has been decided," he continued in direction of everyone, "that King Elessar would be crowned on the 1st of May. In presence of envoys from all of Middle-Earth. We already have an emissary in Minas Tirith, of course, Gimli, son of Glóin, but We wish for a bigger party to pay hommage to His Majesty."

Bard spoke up, in his princely lilt full of mischief. "Dale also will send envoys, of course, in case you wondered. And King Thorin and I have decided who would go."

Thorin nodded in assent. "Yes, we have, in concert. Three of each race shall go. As Gimli already counts as one for Erebor, I have elected two more." His eyes turned to Baraz' side of the table. "Fíli, son of Kíli, as Prince of Erebor, you were easy to select." The blonde nodded back in agreement. "And Lady Baraz, as former companion of the new King, you were easy to select as well."

Baraz was mildly surprised. She would have been very disappointed not to have been chosen. She missed her dear friends immensely, and would love to know what happened to Frodo, Pippin and Legolas during those long weeks.

What she did not expect, was Bard's answer to this. "Lady Baraz has also been chosen as part of Dale's party. As she is sworn to both Erebor and Dale, no one better than her can represent both our races." There was a grunt of approval around the table, but Baraz met the young king's eyes with curiosity. Did he really mean it? She had not been sworn to Dale since she had awakened from her sick bed. She had remained by Thorin's side ever since he had annointed her Lady Gazardul, and yet he still considered her citizen of Dale... She was puzzled.

"Lords Eckard and Torsten, you will accompany her, if you accept the mission." The two older men nodded. Bard had chosen well. They both were generals during the Battle of Dale, and had the scars to prove it. They also were experienced enough, yet not too old, which was a good thing for the long journey ahead.

Thorin concluded the meeting by standing abruptly and raising a glass. "Shall your journey be safe! You depart in three days time!"

Baraz rose as well as the rest of the table, her eyes still trained on Bard.

They needed to talk.

* * *

She found the newly-crowned in the chambers that had been lent to him until he could return to Dale, Kíli's former rooms.

Bard had been waiting for her, she thought, as when she knocked and entered, candles had been lit and a fire had been tended to. Bard was no longer wearing his regal tunic and crown, instead standing in his black breeches and a beige linen shirt.

Her heart leaped in her chest when she realised this looked like a very romantic scene. And she was not sure to be prepared for it.

She remembered the kiss they had shared in Erebor's corridors a week prior, and remembered the feelings it had stirred within her. But she still was torn between heart and reason, and was definitely not ready to choose between the two.

"Baraz, come in. You seemed to wish to speak to me about something..." Bard's voice said from his desk, and she entered, closing the door behind her before she was handed a glass of wine.

"Bard, I..." she said, clutching the glass as the king's eyes shone with the flames of the candles, "why did you appoint me as your envoy? I have done nothing for Dale these past days, far from it, and-"

"Shush," he said quietly, interrupting her rant with a smile. "You may not have been Dale's citizen these last few days, but you have done more for its survival than anyone else. You saved it. No one deserved the honour more than you."

Baraz took a carefull sip of the wine. It gave her courage. "You are not impartial when it comes to this..."

"No, I am not. Which is why I asked my own counsellors." He too took a sip, a small smirk playing on his lips.

They were standing very close. Too close. In a darkened room lit by candles. Baraz felt too little, and too cowardly to move.

"Baraz, I need to ask you something," he said after a time, and he gently took the glass off her hands to set it aside. Then his own hand replaced the drink, and Baraz found herself lost in his eyes again. "Now that I am King, I have responsibilities. One of those...is to produce an heir."

Baraz blushed furiously and went to take back her hand, but he pulled her closer with an amused smile.

"That's not what I meant. What I mean is...I need to marry."

Baraz stared at him blankly, the blush coming back when she realised what he implied. "You would wish to marry _me_?"

"If you'd have me."

Another blank moment. Baraz felt torn in two, and it was painful. Her heart was thumping noisily in her chest, happy beyond measure that this extraordinary and beautiful man had feelings for her; and yet her mind was shouting at her to run away._ You do not belong together_, it was saying.

She chose to listen to her mind this time. "I...have you thought this through?"

"I have," he answered at once, as if he knew that she would discuss his reasoning. "I think that you and I have had a spark since the day we met. Remember?" he added with a tender smile. "You had just sneaked into the city and when you took off your hood, I thought you were the most beautiful Dwarf I had seen, then how wrong it was to think that. But I have not stopped since."

Baraz blushed again. "I remember that day. Your eyes..." she emphasized by staring at him. "I felt puzzled and I did not like it. I still don't."

He chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "If it is time you need, then I will give it to you. Give me your answer when you come back from Minas Tirith. I can occupy the hungry counsellors until then."

Baraz felt like she was burning again, but this time the flames were not that painful. He really meant it. He wanted to make her his. His Queen. She gently tore her hand from his then placed it carefully on his cheek. "Then I will answer you then."

He smiled, one of the most beautiful sights she had seen, and then he leaned down and placed a careful kiss on her lips. This time she kissed him back, if only for a second. Then she was gone, heart painfully throbbing, and lips tingling.

* * *

Leaving Erebor behind was much easier than Baraz had first thought. Perhaps because she did not have the threat of imminent destruction hanging over her head; or perhaps because there barely was anyone to see the group off when they set out into the wild. Either way, the Mountain growing small behind her was making her lighter with each step.

Fíli, Eckard and Torsten were three very agreeable companions. The cost of war had probably made them also painfully aware that the time that was given to them was precious and not worth spending in idle actions, for every waking hour in their presence was spent laughing, reminiscing good days or joking. Baraz was not bored at all, and was grateful for the distraction.

Sometimes she could feel the gaze of the two sons of Men on her when she spoke with her cousin, but she could not tell why. Sometimes they seemed perplexed with something, sometimes they were staring at her almost in awe. She wondered, but never asked.

It had been decided that the small group would first journey to the edge of Mirkwood to meet with King Thranduil's envoys. Although his own son was surely still in Minas Tirith - if he had survived unscathed, that is, and the grim thought was enough to make shivers run up Baraz' spine disagreeably - the Elvenking had decided that no less than ten of his folk would journey south. Thorin had of course commented by saying that it was only to show his extremely large head to the world.

But really, as they neared the border of his kingdom, Baraz could see why so many Elves would journey to the White City. The Time of Elves was drawing to an end. Even when she still was in green Shire - which seemed like an age ago - the Tall Kin had started travelling to the Grey Havens in the West, to leave Middle-Earth for ever.

Even then, as they crossed the river near the Lake, they could see elven boats gliding over the water slowly and gently, taking the immortals South where they could depart for Valinor...

Somehow, it made Baraz sad.

* * *

"_Aier!_" came the call soon after they had settled their small camp in wait of their companions-to-be.

Baraz stood, a small forming on her lips as she recognized the Elf who was greeting her, her own smile wide and relieved. "Tauriel!"

The red-haired Elf was accompanied by guards and various courtiers, all with dark brown hair and fair eyes in the manner of the Silvan Elves. She was wearing her usual armour, although it bore new tears and traces of scuffle.

"_Mellon-nîn_," Baraz began, placing a hand over the Elleth's arm, "I feared the worst when I heard you had gone to Dol Guldur with the King."

Tauriel's smile did not falter. "It was a harsh battle, unfit for little ones like you. But we won, and that is what matters." She looked over Baraz' head at her companions and bowed the head in greeting. "_Mae govannen_,_ Nogoth ar Edanea_. I am Tauriel, Captain of the King's Guard." _**Well met, Dwarf and Humans.**_

"My friend," Baraz added with a smile. She then moved back to face the Elf and gestured to her companions. "Lords Eckard and Torsten are King Bard's envoys. Both are great warriors and fought well during the Battle of Dale. And this," she linked her arm with her cousin's, "is Fíli, son of Kíli, my friend and kin."

Fíli was staring at Tauriel with wide blue eyes. He seemed entranced somehow, especially when she turned her green eyes to him and smiled even wider, if it was possible. "Yes, I briefly met your father, Prince Kíli, when he was younger. Well met, young Fíli."

The Elves settled their camp near the travellers, and as night fell over the scene, Baraz was reminded of her time in Rivendell in the way tunes and tales filled the chilly air under the stars...

* * *

It took their group two weeks to reach the most southern part of Mirkwood. The forest was regrowing as the Greenwood it was called before, and the Silvan Elves were growing more and more joyful as time passed, as if their lifeforce was linked to that of their home.

From there, it was decided that they would meet with the River Silverlode from Loríen, and that they would take the boats of their golden kin down to Minas Tirith.

Baraz felt a great weight befall her shoulders when, three weeks after their departure, they reached the shores of Parth Galen and Amon Hen. Fíli questioned her when she grew pale at the sight of the white stones lying on the shores, but she did not answer until they were past the Fall of Raurós and close to the land of Gondor.

Tauriel and Fíli, who had spent a lot of time together - they seemed to greatly appreciate each other and not in a romantic way, which was appreciable - managed to corner her as they settled camp in North Ithilien.

"You are going to tell us the reason for all this brooding, old friend," the Elf began, and Fíli stood close, arms crossed on his chest and the most severe face he could muster showing on his features.

Baraz chuckled darkly and gestured her friends to sit, and she sighed. "It is not a tale that I like to share." She eyed the beautiful valley she could see from their perch on top of a hill, and thought this land to be beautiful and peaceful. It reminded her of the Shire and once again, she was taken with strong nostalgic thoughts.

"Nonsense. There is a reason for your unhappiness and we want to know."

Fíli nodded. "It started when we passed those statues."

Baraz closed her eyes and saw behind her eyelids the imposing faces of the Argonath, of the Kings of old, and she sighed again. "Very well. But as I said, it is not a nice tale."

Tauriel nodded gravely, then said, "You have lost a friend there" and Baraz had to stare at her elven friend in awe.

"I have. He was a son of these lands, ailed from Minas Tirith. His name was Boromir, and he was a wise and kind man. For leagues he was tormented with the power of the Ring, and ultimately, he was killed protecting two of my Halfling friends." She wiped at a stray tear. "It happened on the shores of Parth Galen."

Tauriel put a hand on Baraz' leg. "_Aier_, losing people you love is a normal feat during a war. I guess this holds strong meaning to you because it was the first loss you experienced, but there is no dwelling in it. Boromir of Gondor died a hero, and that is what matters."

She was right, of course. Boromir's death and taken a bigger toll than Gandalf's, perhaps because Baraz knew in her heart of hearts that the wizard was not really dead; she'd never know, but seeing the dark-haired warrior's body pierced by arrows had been the beginning of many sufferings and being close to where it had happened had brought back all those feelings...

She thanked Tauriel and Fíli for their kind words afterwards, and stared into the sunset of Ithilien, thinking that the day after, she would see the White City and meet again with other friends. Alive friends. Thanks to Boromir's sacrifice.

And it did not hurt that bad anymore...


	27. 26, King Elessar

_A/N: Hello readers and thank you for still following this story! I realised that in little more than six months we'll hit the two years mark, which has never happened for any of my stories before... AND I have to admit right now to you that YES, we'll probably hit that mark. :D I love this story so much and there are some more things to say about Baraz and her friends before the end of times. ;) But for now, enjoy an overdue reunion!_

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

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**_Playlist of this chapter:_** _The Last Debate and The Fellowship Reunited from The Return of the King OST._

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**26\. King Elessar**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**1st May**_

* * *

Minas Tirith was magnificent. All that Baraz had ever heard about it - its colour, white as the purest of cottons; it's height; its curves; its towers - everything was more beautiful than she had imagined.

With the sun that rose in the East in its gentle curve, the white stone shone like a beacon, calling in the hundreds of people that were currently heading inside its walls.

There was something extremely eerie about such a place, something that Baraz could not quite pinpoint. It felt old, yes, but also new. But then, she thought, it had just risen from the ashes of a war...

"Why are we heading South?" Fíli asked as the Elves ignored the city for a while instead of heading straight for it. They were making a strange curve to join a road on the southern plains.

Tauriel looked at him sadly. "Because we do not wish to see the desolation of the fields of Pelennor..."

Baraz blood froze at the Elleth's words. Pelennor. Her father had told her that is where the armies of the West made their stand against Sauron's armies only a month prior. A slaughter, nothing more, nothing less.

She felt the need to see for herself what the darkness had brought upon them. She clutched her bow and felt the small hair at the back of her neck rise as she climbed a hill, Fíli following her footsteps, and when her eyes fell on the plain, she found herself crying.

"What in Mahal's name..." the Dwarf at her side said, and Tauriel, who had followed them, chanted a quiet song in her tongue for those who had fallen.

Everywhere, piled away to rot in the sun and wind, were thousands of bodies, Orcs, Goblins, Oliphants and Men alike. She could see the carcass of a great beast with dozens of arrows littering its sides, and all around, the dessicated bodies of horses.

"We should not have seen this..." Tauriel said in a sad voice.

"No, we should," Baraz said, " to remind ourselves of the price Middle-Earth paid. Not only Erebor or Mirkwood, but all of us." Her voice was harsh and strong, and when she turned away from the scene, she felt like a warrior who had seen far too much to be moved ever again. She angrily wiped at her wet cheeks, and beckoned her cousin and her friend to follow.

* * *

Inside the walls, Minas Tirith looked much more like Dale or any other buzzing city. Thousands and thousands of men, women and children alike were cheering happily about the celebrations to come, and everywhere, gossips about who'd be there and who'd not be.

It was difficult to cut through the crowd like this. Most of the people present had never seen so many Elves in their time, and they all wanted a look at their brown or auburn hair, the children being even bold enough to come close and tug on their tunics.

Tauriel picked one girl up at one point and let the child place a flower in her hair. Baraz did not feel the need to smile though. Fíli's hand searched for hers, but she denied the comfort he wanted to give her.

The war had made orphans or widows out of everyone. So little grown-up Men could be seen, so little... What had become of the world?

* * *

"My Lady!" came the call once they reached the second level of the city, aptly named the Inner Wall. The group watched as a young boy bearing the same tree-like coat of arms as many of the others ran towards them, cheeks flushed with his run and maybe also with the appearance of the Elleth he seeked.

Tauriel bowed the head in greeting. "Son of Man."

The boy bowed the head too, although not quite in the fashion of Elves. "My Lord Aragorn has asked for your delegation to be brought to the palace, my Lady, and-"

He cut short when he noticed the two Men and two Dwarves among the group. His eyes fell on Baraz and on the short but still bright red hair that grew on her head.

He almost fell to his knees, which made Baraz very self-conscious. "Lady Baraz of Erebor... It is an honour."

"Rise, young one," Fíli said with a chuckle, "my cousin is not a legend. Bring us to your master, that will suffice."

The boy nodded and stared at Baraz again for a moment before he shouted at the crowd to let them pass, guiding them through to yet another higher level.

"What was _that _about?" Baraz enquired with a slight blush.

"I fear, my darling, that your valour has reached even the Southern regions..." Fíli laughed. "Or maybe Gimli has told everyone you were a dragon eater..."

At that she let out a small laugh, although it did not last. Gimli...was he alive? Yes, he should have been, otherwise Glóin would have received word of his passing. But what of Legolas? What of the Halflings? What of...Frodo?

"Soon now, Baraz. You'll see them soon." She looked aside at the blue eyes that smiled up at her and blessed Mahal or anyone that listened for the friendship of Fíli, son of Kíli. He knew her so well...

* * *

As the group made its way to the upper levels of the city, Baraz realised the ethnicity of the people present for the crowning. The Men of Gondor were, similarly to the Men of Dale, very dark of hair and very tall. But here and there, she could also see a lot of blonde Men. She soon realised that they were the sons of Rohan, the Horse-lords of the Riddermark.

They were slightly shorter of stature than their southern cousins. Almost all of those she saw wore their hair very long - male and female alike - sometimes braided but mostly untamed, making some of the riders look like wild mountain lions.

They did not see any other Elf or Dwarf, though, telling them that, although the crowning was taking place two days later, all the delegations had not arrived yet.

Baraz passed an absent hand in her short hair and winced. She could still feel the scars on her skull and the places where the red tendrils had not started growing back yet.

She felt suddenly extremely self-conscious and ashamed, until Fíli took her hand down and looked her in the eye in a more serious way than he had ever done.

"_Azbadu men,_" he started, using Khuzdûl for perhaps only the second time with her, "_menu denapdul, ekespu menu Khazad o targu menu._" _**My Lady, you are honorable, you mean more to the Dwarves than your hair.**_

Baraz' eyes widened at his words, and she felt herself smile despite her sadness. She squeezed her cousin's fingers, honoured that he would think that of her. Indeed, the fact that she had short hair should be considered a disgrace to most Dwarves for whom cutting hair or beard meant shame.

But Fíli saw past the short strands of red hanging from her head, and past the braid that had been placed on the right side of her face where the hair had remained longer...

* * *

At last, they reached a courtyard at the top most of the city. Baraz' eyes fell first on the plains she could see from there, but the bodies she had witnessed before were mere spots down below from that height, and even though the image would be burnt on her mind for all eternity, it felt strangely peaceful to stand on top of the world...

Then she glanced upon an old and gnarled white tree standing in the middle of the courtyard. Without realising, she stepped closer to it, her eyes glued to the bark. It reminded her of something, something ominous and important, but she could not remember what.

"Baraz!" came the call seconds before she was going to touch the tree.

Her head snapped at the sound and she felt a wave of relief and a smile on her lips as she saw Gimli run down a flight of stairs, properly ignoring the Elves who watched him pass and running to his two kin.

Baraz felt herself waiting for the hug that came soon after, and she relished in the feeling of her kin and friend's comfort. "Gimli... _Khahay..._ I feared the worst."

The Dwarf entangled himself from her arms and shook hands with Fíli. "So did we, lassie. We heard of the siege on Erebor and Legolas - well, that is, we _all _feared you had perished..." He had a broad smile on his lips, but something in his dark eyes was dimmed, like the snuffing of a light.

He looked at her with that grin on his lips, then said, "So, you're a Lady now, eh?" he chuckled while pointing at her braided hair. "I guess Thorin and yourself are not at war now, then..."

Fíli laughed. "No, our new king is even more keen on receiving her counsel now..."

Baraz felt flushed. "Please, dear cousins, let's not discuss this now..." She gestured to the Elves and two Men who were staring at the scene with various states of indifference. "Let me introduce our companions for our journey."

Gimli surprised them both by bowing in the Elven manner to Tauriel and her kin, but then again, Baraz knew that many things had changed during the Quest...

* * *

"_Mellon-nîn..._" Baraz had been introducing Gimli to Lords Eckard and Torsten when the light footsteps of an Elf announced the arrival of Legolas.

She whirled around, her smile even bigger than before, to receive the Elf she had so sorely missed. Emboldened by Gimli's greeting she hugged the tall Elf briefly, grinning when he returned the gesture.

"Legolas... _Oio naa elealla alasse'._" _**Ever is thy sight a joy.**_

He smiled too, and she took the time to assess the white robes he was wearing and his overall handsomeness. It reminded her of their first meeting in Rivendell, what felt like an age prior. She had felt like a teenage girl then, meeting with a long time crush. He was still too handsome for good, but something had changed in her heart. She did not put a name on it though.

"_Cormlle naa tanya tel'raa, Aier. Creoso en Minas Tirith._" _**Your heart is that of the lion, Short-One. Welcome to Minas Tirith.**_

He then moved to greet his old friend Tauriel, and in the way the Elleth's eyes lit up when he bowed to her, Baraz realised that she had been blind all along and that the Captain of Mirkwood's guard was not as indifferent to her prince as she had always said...

The sight made her painfully aware of the question some King had asked her a few weeks before.

"Come now, Aragorn is waiting for us! Dinner has been lain down for your company and ours!" Gimli bellowed in his typical Dwarven drawl.

Baraz took the arm Legolas offered her and felt a lump in her throat. The Elf smiled down at her. "I think a couple of younglings would like to see you."

She glanced up at him with blue eyes filled with hope, and the nod he gave her was answer enough. Suddenly the pace they were advancing at was not quick enough.

* * *

The palace was a mirror image of the city it sat upon: white stones forming delicate pillars, engraved with runes of a forgotten meaning; paintings of Ages long forgotten, golden wood and coloured glass everywhere the eye could see. Minas Tirith really was beautiful.

It made Baraz ache to be shown to its grounds by an old friend who knew it by heart, and he heart constricted as she thought of Boromir again. Legolas felt her anguish and gently pressed her arm with a gentle smile that told of grief too, and she welcomed the gesture.

The dining-room they were shown to was the size of Erebor's throne room. Statues of previous kings stood before every window, and two stone thrones lay at the far side, one heavily decorated, the other a little less. No one sat on either, for six figures stood before the tables, conversing with each other until they noticed the company entering the room.

Baraz let go of Legolas' arm as soon as she recognized the four smaller forms. Tears sprang to her eyes and she could not stop herself from leaping forward. Her heart swelled in her chest and she found herself opening her arms in a silent and happy invite to the Halflings.

Merry and Pippin reached her quickly, their laughter making the weight on her shoulders lift a great deal. Both looked older, battered by war and battles. Merry still sported an arm in a sling, but both looked happy as ever.

Baraz hugged them both as tight as she could, sobbing on their shoulders. "I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I let you down... I should have been there..."

Pippin tutted. "Miss Poppy, please," he smiled, and the nickname brought a smile to her lips despite the tears that still fell down her cheeks, "do not feel sorry for us. We lived quite a few adventures, didn't we Merry?"

"That we did, Pip," answered Merry with his usual grin, and both resumed hugging her until someone cleared their throat behind them.

Samwise Gamgee had not been the closest Hobbit to Baraz, and yet he was adamant in hugging her too. He looked grim, sad, and forever marked by what he had been through. And although Bofur had told his daughter about the falling of the One Ring, she could never process what he and Frodo had been through. She hugged him fiercely, and thanked him for taking care of her cousin.

Frodo had been standing a bit far from the group, as if he was not there, not really, but as Baraz opened her arms for him, he hurried to her like a child in need for comfort, and they both found themselves crying in each other's arms.

"Frodo..." she whispered, "my dear friend, my brother... I am so glad to see you."

"And I you Poppy..." he whispered back in a small voice. He took her hands next, and his sky-blue eyes were shadowed by a great weight. She noticed he was missing a finger and her heart clenched at that, but the Halfling helped her back to her feet and gently directed her to two friends she had rudely ignored until then.

Although both were regarding her with wide smiles.

* * *

Baraz smiled sadly at both Gandalf the White and King Elessar, and bowed as low as she could before the new monarch of the Kingdom of Arnor.

A gentle and calloused hand helped her back up, and Aragorn smiled at her with wide grey eyes that looked happier than he had ever been since she had met him. "My dear friend, there is no need for that here. We are companions, after all." He smiled and bowed to kiss her knuckles.

Gandalf moved closer but merely looked down at her from where he leaned on his white staff, a mirror image of his Grey self. His stormy eyes were joyful, she realised. "My dear Miss Baraz... It seems all of us have grown during this whole ordeal, you more than most. Miss Ariana would be proud."

Baraz let out a huff of surprise, but then she felt new tears spring to her eyes as Fíli took her hand and guided her to the table.

There, they all ate in the middle of songs and happy memories, and Halflings who drank their fill and sang their ears off; and Dwarves feasting on meat and cursing in Khuzdûl; and Elves regarding this with a critical eye; and Men enjoying this display a bit too much...

And one Half-Dwarf who felt as though her life was complete.


	28. 27, The crownless shall be King

_A/N: Hello guys! I quite like the chapter you are going to read. Namely because one of my all-time crushes on Lord of the Rings (and yes, that is David Wenham's fault) appears here. So enjoy. :)_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Allegiance to Denethor; and The Fellowship reunited from The Return of the Kings OST._

* * *

**27\. The crownless shall be King**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**2nd May**_

* * *

When Baraz awoke the day of the coronation, her first thought was that she had dreamt the events of the previous night. Her heart filled with dread at the thought that her reunion with Frodo, Pippin, Merry and Sam had all been a dream. She stood from the comfortable - and a bit too big - bed and went to the window that gave on the city below, and her eyes trailed on the White City and its beauty.

No, she had not dreamt at all, for a series of quick knocks on her door finished to chase sleep away. She wrapped a robe around her figure and said "Enter!" in a clear voice, her lips stretching into a wide smile as Pippin and Sam entered the room, the second being slightly pink in the cheeks.

"My dear friends, what brings you to me this early?"

Sam remained a bit back, obviously having accompanied his friend rather relunctantly, but Pippin stepped up unabashedly. "We wondered if you'd agree to come on a visit of the city with us today. Merry is still in the Healing Houses for his arm, and Frodo did not wish to come."

Baraz frowned a bit at that. She knew, had seen, how changed Frodo was by all that had happened to him, but she wished deep in her heart that her almost-brother could heal from his dark thoughts and be the Hobbit he once was. Vain thoughts, she knew, but as she smiled at both Halflings, she thought that everyone had to change, and that war inevitably did that. "Of course I will come! Do you know much of Minas Tirith yourselves?"

Sam shook his head, Pippin shrugged. "I've seen my fair share while defending it, but I did not see the most beautiful sights, or so Faramir said. He'll be our guide." Baraz frowned again, this time because of the matter-of-factly tone he had used to talk of the Battle, but he mistook it for something else. "You have not met Faramir yet, have you? Oh, you'll like him! He's terribly smart and gentle. My City Guard armour used to be his, you see!" Pippin's enthusiasm was contagious, and after a moment, Baraz' smile appeared again.

"He seems to be a nice Man. I'll get dressed and join you in the courtyard."

Pippin came to kiss her on the cheek - which needed her to stoop quite low - and Sam smiled perhaps for the first time since she had seen him the evening before. The smile did not quite reach his eyes though, and once again, Baraz was struck how much had changed during their adventures...

* * *

Plaiting her hair appeared to require the expert hand of Fìli and the young dwarven prince soon asked if he could join the small group during their visit of the city. His blue eyes glowed with curiosity, a look Baraz knew all too well, and she knew the Hobbits would not object. It was not in their nature. 'The more the merrier' was after all a mantra they all lived by.

"How are you feeling, Fil?" she asked as they tried to find their way out of the palace.

Her cousin smiled a true smile. "At peace with myself. I am glad the evil in this world has been defeated, for I would not have survived the loss of anyone else I care about." He said the last part while holding her hand, and she squeezed his strong fingers in a silent agreement.

"Uncle Kìli would have loved this city..."

Fìli nodded. "That he would have."

They silently thought of their father and uncle, the strong warrior who had fallen protecting his King, and although the pain was still in their hearts, it was accompanied by a content to be able to remember him for who he was: a good man, a better father, and an admirable friend.

* * *

They found the two Hobbits in the courtyard, deep in conversation with a Tall Man that Baraz identified as being the Faramir Pippin had talked about in such elogious words.

He was perhaps as tall as Aragorn himself, with long bronze hair that brushed his shoulders, and joyful grey eyes that painfully reminded her of someone else. She released Fìli's hand when she reached him and he stared down at her with a kind smile. The sense of déjà-vu was too strong. "You are Boromir's blood," she said in a shaky voice.

Faramir bowed the head, taking her hand to gently kiss her knuckles. "I am his younger brother, and I am honoured to finally meet you, Lady Poppy."

Fìli, behind her, laughed whole heartedly at the nickname he had used as her true name, but Baraz knew that he used it only because Pippin had introduced her as such. She smiled sadly at the tall man. "You resemble him greatly."

"I was under the impression that you were a dear friend of his, so I will take this as a compliment," he smiled wider even, then turned to her cousin. "I have not had the pleasure yet, Master Dwarf."

"Fìli, son of Kìli, I have the misfortune of being Baraz' cousin." She scowled at him but he merely laughed. He always did. "If what she said is true, your brother was a good man. I daresay you are too." Faramir smiled and bowed the head in thanks, then he turned his grey eyes towards the White City.

"Let's take advantage of the morning we have, for the coronation of our King will occur soon and we are all invited." He took Pippin next to him, and Baraz understood they had a much deeper relationship than she had first thought. Maybe Faramir had fought next to the Halfling, had protected him with his sword, like his brother before him? She swore herself that she would ask. "Come, the Library is a wonder in the light of the rising sun..."

* * *

The Library was indeed a wonder when touched by the rays of a rising sun. So was the City Hall, the City Gardens, and most of the city really.

Faramir was a kind and attentionate man, and an excellent guide. During their visits, Baraz learned from Sam that he was to be Steward of Gondor like his father before him. That impressed Baraz greatly, but she could already see him beside Aragorn, two tall men battered and bruised by war with their grey eyes full of wisdom.

Their visit ended with the Houses of Healing, close to the palace where they could all see a swarm of people hanging garlands and decorating with flowers. Those Houses gave on the plains beyond, and a magnificent small courtyard provided the peace and quiet one in need of it wanted.

There, sat on a bench made of marble, they found Merry, his arm free of the sling but still nursed close to his chest, and a lady of great beauty Baraz could not help but stare at.

Her beauty was different than that of the Elves, but she was without doubt one of the most beautiful dames she had ever met, including the Lady Galadriel. She had golden blonde hair that fell in soft waves down to her waist, and sky blue eyes. She had the pale complexion of the Elleths but lacked their pointy ears.

When she noticed the group standing close, she sprang to her feet with a small smile that lit her whole face. Faramir smiled at her too, and Baraz saw the exchange for what it was: the blooming of attraction. Her thoughts went to Bard for a split second, and she wondered if she had ever stared at him the way the golden lady was looking at Faramir.

"My lady," he said while bowing the head, "we did not wish to intrude."

Merry sprang to his feet too, coming to stand by Pippin and explain in happy words how the medics had said he was strongly-built to be able to take off the sling so soon. Baraz looked at them the way a mother would two petulant children, and if she did not realise it, Fìli did with a slight pang of hurt in his chest.

The golden lady turned to the group with a more affirmed smile, and Faramir introduced them. "My lady, you already know our Halfling friends. Let me introduce Prince Fìli of Erebor-" said Prince's eyes widened a bit for he had not told Faramir his title, "-and Lady Poppy, Saviour of the Mountain."

Baraz blushed furiously. "Thank you, my Lord, but that is not how I am called. My true name is Baraz, and I am no saviour." Faramir seemed somewhat shamed to have missed her name, and she added with a smile "Poppy is the name I bear in the Shire."

The lady's eyes widened with curiosity. "You seem to be more than you look," and her voice was deeper than most ladies but still beautiful. Strong, like her.

"My friends," Faramir continued, "let me introduce Lady Eowyn of Rohan, sister to the new king Eomer, and Shieldmaiden of her people."

Lady Eowyn smiled at him again, and her hand twitched as if she wished to take his. Baraz looked at her with a renewed admiration. So she, too, had taken up arms to protect her people? What a strong lady indeed!

"Come now, my friends, for we all need to look our best for the ceremony." Faramir smiled wider, and the company, now including Merry and Lady Eowyn, made their way back to the palace to change and refresh themselves.

* * *

When they reached the palace again, they had to steer through a maze of people already gathered for the celebration. Some were whispering after them as if they were the most well-knowns bards of Middle-Earth. Baraz felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but Pippin's small hand in hers gave her courage.

"Do you need my assistance for your hair,_ Azbadu men_?" Fìli asked as they reacher her chambers. There was mischievous glint in his eyes and she gently shoved him away.

"I will manage. _Khahay_." He laughed, and went his merry way. But Baraz couldn't help but notice a certain slump on his shoulders, and she promised herself to enquire on it later.

* * *

The coronation of a King was an important event, she remembered that from Thorin's. But although she had been able to keep her breeches for that one, albeit very new ones, Baraz thought that Aragorn deserved her to actually make an effort to look like a woman.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Baraz decided to wear a dress. A very simple one, dark blue like most of what she possessed, on which she pinned the Elven brooch that Lady Galadriel had offered her, and that she completed with her mother's ring.

When she took the necklace out of her pouch, Baraz felt a lump form in her throat. The last time she had held it, well almost the last time, Bard had kissed her. She closed her eyes and could suddenly see his face, his blue eyes filled with good humour, and his lopsided smile that made her smile herself each time she saw it.

She missed him, she realised, and that thought scared her, for she had never considered a man like that before. When she was a child in the Shire, she had thought that she'd end up married to a Halfling, which would have been normal. Then, growing up, she thought she would not marry at all. Then there had been that whole ordeal with Fìli that had frightened her to the bones. But now, now, she was actually considering marrying someone, and that someone was a king.

A knock on the door interrupted her difficult thoughts and she wiped at a stray tear before beckoning whomever it was in. She expected Fìl, but was pleasantly surprised to see Gimli instead, having shed his own armour to wear a tunic the same colour as hers, although his was embroidered with golden stars.

"You look very handsome, cousin," she said with a smile.

"And yer as pretty as a flower, lass," he answered before offering her his arm. When they passed in front of the mirror, Baraz saw a woman. Broken, sad beyond belief, but a woman, and not a girl anymore. She wondered if she died in Moria or later in Parth Galen. Maybe even earlier than all that...

* * *

The courtyard was filled with people as they reached it. It had been heavily decorated with flowers and garlands of ivy, and that made the place look so peaceful Baraz forgot all about the plains that lay beyond the walls.

Gimli directed her to where Fìli was waiting with Lords Eckard and Torstein. Both were wearing tunics of a brown embroidered with royal blue, and had laced their long hair off their faces. Baraz took a stand between them and her cousin, so her height was not an ugly sight.

Facing them, she recognized Lady Eowyn, looking radiant in a pure white dress. Her hair had been crowned by flowers, and Baraz stared at her, wondering how such a beautiful woman could also be such a fearsome warrior. For Gimli told her all about her as they walked together.

Beside Lady Eowyn was a tall Man who resembled her greatly. His hair was more yellow than hers, more like wheat than gold, but they shared the same features and same eyes. Baraz guessed it was the brother Faramir had talked about, the King of Rohan. He looked more battered than his sister, but yet again, what King hadn't been during this war?

Baraz searched the crowd for Tauriel, and found the Mirkwood Elves a little further along the line. Legolas was not among them and it puzzled her. Even Gimli did not know where their elven friend was at...

The only friends she could not see were the Hobbits, but Baraz guessed they were on the same line as her, only hidden from sight by the tall figures of the men around.

* * *

When Gandalf and Faramir erupted from the palace, the crowd silenced itself at once. Mithrandir was leaning on his staff, the Steward of Gondor wearing a long grey tunic on which was embroidered the White Tree of his House. He was holding a delicate silver crown, although it had obviously not been made by Dwarf or Elf. This was pure Men lore.

Aragorn appeared at the door, clad in a heavy armour, a long cloak floating behind him. He seemed tense, but his eyes roamed over the crowd and each time he met a friend's eyes, his smile widened a notch.

Gandalf tapped his staff on the paved ground, and a light erupted from the tip, sending a wave of warmth over the crowd. Baraz closed her eyes to revel in the feeling, then watched as Faramir held the crown aloft then gave it to the Istar.

"I present to you your King," he said with his booming voice, "King Elessar of the Kingdom of Arnor!" He placed the crown upon Aragorn's head and the man stood straighter.

Then Faramir shouted "The King!" and everyone in presence repeated the shout until Aragorn held a hand to quieten his subjects and guests.

When his voice rose, it was not to speak, but to sing, and when Baraz recognized the words, her heart felt lighter, and yet heavier, for she understood the underlying meaning. Only the Elves not far from her hung their heads low as well. The Lay of Luthien. Her love story with mortal Beren.

Aragorn was a fantastic singer, and Baraz had forgotten how his elvish was pure and without lilt. It reminded her of what he had once said: that he had met her mother Ariana when he was but a child living in Rivendell under the name Estel.

The song died out and silence fell, then the King started walking among the ranks, bowing his head and receiving the respectful bows of his guests in return. It started with the remaining Lords of Minas Tirith, some of whom still nursed heavy injuries. Then there was the Lieutenants of Osgiliath and the Rangers of Ithilien. Then came the Rohirrims and their Lady and Lord who bowed their heads with big smiles.

When Aragorn faced Baraz and her kin, his smile was softer, his eyes kinder. She bowed the head, a hand on her breast in the manner of Elves, and Aragorn surprised her by leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

Fìli's hand squeezed hers, and when she looked at him, he was so proud it made her heart swell.

* * *

It was when Aragorn reached the Elves that all seemed to pause. A song was rising, music of fiddles and lyres rising in the air from the end of the courtyard. No one could see who or what had arrived to late, but there was a scuffle as they - because it was apparently another delegation - made their way in.

Baraz' eyes widened as she recognized the sound of Rivendell's harps, and when the first Elf appeared at the end of the row, followed by a dozen other, she understood Rivendell and Lorìen had sent their kin together.

Legolas was walking in front of his cousins of the South, and with a smile, he greeted Aragorn in elvish, although Baraz could not hear what he said. Then he moved aside, and the next Elf, who was carrying the arms of Lord Elrond, moved the cloth aside to reveal his - or her in this case - face.

There was a general gasp among the crowd as Lady Arwen stepped forward, a magnificent smile on her lips.

Baraz' own lips curled without her accord, and Gimli started chuckling to himself. The rest of the people in attendance, not knowing who the dark-haired Elleth was, started whispering about her beauty.

Aragorn seemed entranced for a second, then he leaped forward and kissed Arwen right on the lips. Legolas was grinning like a fool next to them, and Gimli and Fìli, in true manner of the Dwarves, started cheering. Baraz herself could not contain her claps.

She knew, had witnessed, how Aragorn's love for the Elleth had been an adventure of every moment. She was immortal, he was to die of old age. He was leaving for war, she was to stay with her people. But now, as they embraced, nothing seemed impossible anymore.

* * *

After a moment, Aragorn offered his arm to his lady and the Elves moved into the ranks to leave them continue the honours together. Arwen was radiant.

Then came the dooming instant when Aragorn stopped in front of a delegation, and shook his head. Then, it a clear voice that carried over the crowd, he said, "You, my friends, are bowing to no one." And he sank to his knees.

Everyone mirrored the king, and as Baraz was cleared of the view before she too sank to a knee, she saw that Aragorn had in fact bowed in front of the four Halflings.

She smiled proudly, her hand still firmly tucked in her cousin's.


	29. 28, Choices

_A/N: Hello everyone! And thank you for sticking to this story! Every person who reads or reviews sends a bolt of love right through my heart... :) I love this story so so soooooo much and I feel so good that you do too._

_Fair warning: this chapter is much shorter than the others, but there is a reason for it. It's a much more...reflexive one, and next time, we'll go back into business..._

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **The Return Journey from The Battle of the Five Armies OST; and The Grace of Undomiel from The Return of the King OST._

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**28\. Choices**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**8th May**_

* * *

After Aragorn's coronation, life in Minas Tirith was more peaceful than ever. Laughter filled the air, feasts that lasted all night long birthed everywhere in the city, and every guest felt as though they should never leave.

Baraz found herself divided between her time with the Hobbits - mostly the two youngest - and Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn, who were barely seen one without the other anyway.

She had found herself many common traits with the fair lady of Rohan, the least of which was their tendency to take part in a war far bigger than them. Both were fierce when it came to their land and family; and both were acclaimed as warriors by their kin even when, at first, it had been forbidden by their Kings.

Faramir was far wiser than Boromir, but after so much time spent in his company, Baraz thought that both of them together should have been a force to be reckoned with in the sense that the younger brother completed his brother's character to perfection. And he often asked Baraz for a tale about their adventures on the Quest before his untimely passing.

Upon talking with all four one day, Baraz learned that Pippin had saved Faramir from a fate no one envied: the pyre. And that Eowyn and Merry had fought side by side as though kin. Everyone here was a brother or a sister-in-arms, and Baraz found herself longing for home.

Then it came, that questioning deep in her heart: where was "home"?

* * *

Fìli was the closest thing she had to family in this place far from Erebor, but it hadn't been like that long ago, when she had been more carefree, more joyful, less...haunted. Once, when she still roamed the Shire in search for wild geese for a party or else, Baraz never thought of the Lonely Mountain as home. Home was these hills far away, this hobbit-hole her mother had filled with stories and love.

The feeling was stronger even when she spent time with the Halflings. Merry, and Pippin especially, were fond of anecdotes about their lives there, even if it had been almost a year since they had left it.

"Pip is not very discreet, always gets us caught! But that day, we did salvage a very good barrel of ale, remember that one, Sam?"

"I wrote a song to woo a lass once, and it was so awful that she married the ugliest Hobbit there was!"

"Mister Bilbo's horrible cousin even tried to rally us to her cause, but I said 'We Brandybucks don't answer to scum like the Sackville-Bagginses!' I said, and she was so angry her ears were crimson!"

Everytime a tale like those rose around a table, Baraz felt a lump form in her throat, one that almost brought tears to her eyes, and a smile formed on her lips that was so sad that anyone looking knew that she longed for the green country.

* * *

One day, Fìli found her in the Library. It had started to be a habit of hers to roam through maps and old historical accounts to appease her raging thoughts.

"Baraz, can I have a word?" he asked, whispered more like, as she studied an account of the Fall of Gondolin, a sad sad tale.

"Yes, of course!" she answered, slightly surprised at his serious tone. "What is it about?"

He sighed. "I know, we all do, that you are not happy here. You are missing something, something that no one and especially not me, can offer you." He paused. "You are missing the Shire."

Baraz averted her eyes, tears prickling behind her eyelids as she pictured the sun rising over Hobbiton. "It has been almost twenty years, Fìl."

A gentle hand took hers, and she looked back into her cousin's face, a small smile on his lips. "Go back. Visit it again, meet with former friends. Or you will regret it for the rest of your days..."

Baraz pondered his words, and she had done so many times before, for his advice was one she had given herself every day since she had been reunited with her four little friends. But there was a huge wall at the end of the road, and she could not ignore it anymore. "Bard..." she breathed, and Fìli squeezed her fingers tighter.

"He would understand. And you'd not be gone long. A few months at most. We'd send word to him. If he loves you, and I think he does, he'll wait."

Baraz smiled to him, for he had always been a formidable friend, even through their childhood letters, and when they had been betrothed, he had been the confidant her mother had once been.

So her next words were easy.

"Alright then, but come with me."

He stared at her, seeing probably the pleading in her eyes, for she had long wanted him to visit her home and its wonders, and he nodded slowly. "Of course."

* * *

But despite Fìli's assurance that he would come with her, Baraz still felt wrong throughout the day. Her leaving for the Shire was equally exhilirating and scary. Scarier even that the doom that almost befell Middle Earth. She was so happy to be able to see Hobbiton once again, her mind kept going to a happier time when she roamed the green, leaping and running through grass, younglings believing her to be an Elf...and it made her smile. And yet...

And yet there was something wrong in the way she felt like if she went back, she would never leave again. If she stepped back into the life she once had had, she would never see Erebor again...

Her heart felt torn, and she could not voice her worries to anyone who would understand. Or so she thought.

* * *

She had been sitting on a stone bench in the Houses of Healing, in the exact spot where she had met the Lady Eowyn, when a soft voice shook her off her grim thoughts.

"_Mellon-nîn, lle tyava quel?_" _**My friend, are you feeling well?**_

Baraz turned her head, taking in the sight of Arwen as she glided towards her and sat at her side. The Elleth looked radiant, and had looked so ever since she had married Aragorn on the day of his coronation. Finally, she had said then.

"Arwen," she greeted, "_Mankoi naa lle sinome?_" _**Why are you here? **_It was her small attempt to change the subject, but her millenia-old friend was no idiot, and she pursed her lips just as she gently took one of Baraz' hands.

"_Lle anta amin tu?_" _**Do you need help?**_

Just with those words, Baraz understood that her unhappiness had not been as discreet as she would have hoped. And maybe, just maybe, that Arwen was _exactly _the person she needed to speak to.

"I cannot express it in Elvish," she apologized as she switched back to Westron. "But I am grateful for your assistance."

Arwen bowed the head slightly. "You have been looking sad for several days now, _Aier_, and your friends have taken notice. Your cousin _Rwalaer _came to me this morning with worry in his eyes."

Baraz smirked. "You nicknamed Fìli 'Loyal one'?"

Arwen chuckled. "It was appropriate, and it was Legolas' idea. Now, please, tell me what is wrong."

Baraz took a deep breath. She did not really know where to start. "I wish to go back to the Shire." Arwen nodded, knowing there was more. "My whole sould longs for it, because it is linked to a happier time of my life. Much happier," she added, eyes dropping to the ground. "But I fear that if I go, then I will never leave again."

Arwen nodded again. "I can understand. Some places, or people, can reminisce us of the person we were at a time when worries were far away. It can be hard to let go." She paused. "But, please, tell me why it would be wrong for you to remain where your heart lies?"

Baraz felt her eyes prickle with tears, because it was precisely the thing she had not voiced before that needed to be said. "In Erebor, there is a Man. A Man that I think I might love." Her free hand flew to the necklace she never parted from, and the ghost of a kiss lingered on her lips.

"He is a Man?" Arwen asked, no surprise or judgment in her voice, merely curiosity.

"Yes, he is. His name is Bard and..." Baraz' voice broke, "it cannot be."

"Why ever not?" Arwen's fingers squeezed hers gently.

"Where to start?" Baraz sniffed her tears away. "He is King of Dale. And he wants to make me his Queen. _Me._ I cannot be queen of anything, Arwen, I am not like that." There was a silence, and Baraz saw in her companion's eyes that she was waiting for the rest before voicing her opinion. "And he will die far younger than me. I am seventy-four years old, Arwen. He is twenty-seven. What kind of a wife would I be, remaining young while he withers away?"

This time the tears did fall, because the last argument she had never told anyone, not even herself, playing cat and mouse with it without really acknowledging it.

Arwen stood, only to kneel in front of Baraz. She looked far more serious than what the Half-Dwarf was used to, and both her hands encompassed her smaller ones. "Baraz," she said, and her use of her real dwarvish name was a testament of the gravity of the conversation, "I have heard of what you have achieved in Dale and Erebor. Everyone heard about it. You saved your people, just as you were fated to. My grand-mother may have the power of Foresight, but she cannot decide what is to be or not. You have achieved this on your own. So your first argument is, to me, invalid. You made a marvelous leader, and if need be, you'd still be one."

Baraz felt moved by her words, more than anyone else's about this particular matter. That an Elleth who had seen and lived through so much horrible things would say this to her, it was a blessing.

"As for your second worry, it is irrelevant. Your father is a Dwarf of a certain age, and yet he married a human, your mother, who lived old and happy. Did she look unhappy to you?"

Baraz thought about her mother a few weeks because she whithered away. She was smiling to everything she saw; she was taking her Da's hand, looking at him with the same love in her eyes as years before; and she was proud of the family she had created. "No, she didn't."

"Live, _Aier_. We have been through too much not to embrace the good things when they pass. If you love this man, tell him, and choose, together, the path that you will take. Together. Be happy, please. For me, for all of your friends, for your father and mother, and most importantly, for yourself."

Baraz was freely crying by then, hands gripping Arwen's as tightly as she could. She did not know what to answer to all of that, except one thing: "_Diola lle, hodoer arwenamin._" _**Thank you, wise lady of mine.**_

Arwen leaned to kiss her forehead, and then concluded their moment with a simple "My father's people is leaving in a week's time. I think your small friends wish to follow them. Feel free to accompany them. Rivendell will always be your home."

* * *

_A/N: I hope I can express Baraz' worries in a way that is credible. She is a Half-Dwarf, she is going to outlive Bard, and probably the Hobbits too... That is NOT an agreeable thought._


	30. 29, Return to the Last Homely House

_A/N: Hello there! Sorry for the slight delay guys, life has been crazy these past few weeks... But I promise, I'm not going anywhere until this magnificent story is finished. I am such a proud mother to have accomplished a tale like this one that I won't abandon it again, may it rain Hell on me or not..._

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Rivendell, and Gilraen's Memorial, from The Fellowship of the Ring's OST._

* * *

**29\. Return to the Last Homely House**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**21th September**_

* * *

Leaving Minas Tirith felt like being torn apart for the umpteenth time to Baraz. The day Lord Elrond's delegation was to leave, Aragorn and the rest of the small community of friends that had assembled there gathered in the courtyard to say their goodbyes. And she didn't feel ready to leave them.

The only person missing was the Lady Eowyn, for she and her brother King Eomer had left to lay their uncle to rest in the land of their forefathers. She and Baraz had parted as friends, and Eowyn had already sent her a letter with a dried white flower called symbelmynë. Faramir had also received one, although his letter was far longer.

When she joined the group in the courtyard, her pack on her shoulder, her elven cloak in place and her bow and quiver in hand, Baraz felt a strong sense of déjà-vu hit her. It was like leaving Rivendell all over again. Except perhaps, this time, the shadow of danger and death eluded her and her party. Perhaps.

"_Aier_," came the quiet beckoning of Arwen. She stood, radiant, next to her husband, whose arm was around her waist and whose smile was so wide he looked like another man altogether. "Safe travels, my friend. Remember what I said: be happy."

Baraz let down pack and weapons and came to stand by them both, feeling tears prickle her eyes. "I will miss you both enormously."

"Come now, Baraz," Aragorn said as he laid a gentle hand on her slender shoulder, "we both know this is not the end. We shall see each other again."

She nodded, and Arwen came to kiss her forehead, which she answered with a bow of the head and a hand to her heart. Both royals answered in the same manner, and thus used the elven ways.

* * *

Fíli had been conversing with Gimli in Khuzdûl, and when the two banged their heads against the other, the sound was so resounding that most people present looked at them in awe. Baraz approached her cousin with a small smile, for this was not goodbye, not really, and she raised her hands in surrender. "I will pass, if you do not mind."

Gimli laughed his boisterous laughter. "Aye, lass, yer head is too fragile for tha'!"

She smiled back and leaned down to kiss his cheek gently, before she moved to the Elf who was standing close. "_Mellon-nîn._"

Legolas' smile was beautiful, she realised, and it made her painfully aware also that she probably was the only person here that day who thought she would never see her friends again. He probably caught her meaning, for he gently brought her closer.

Elves never hugged people. Baraz had hugged Tauriel countless times, and Legolas a few, but neither had been comfortable with it, so the fact that the Elven prince actually drew her into one was saying much.

He held her for a fraction of a second, then bowed the head in the fashion of his people. "_Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva, Aier._" _**Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet.**_

She smiled, for this was a farewell that was rarely said but very much appropriate, and she nodded. "_Tenna' telwan san'._" _**Until later then.**_

* * *

Tauriel was an easier feat than the others, for she would be in Erebor, or close enough, once Baraz went back. The two friends exchanged gentle words, and then, the only two people left were a tall wizard and a Man who looked eerily like his older brother.

Baraz looked upon them as she realised Gandalf and Boromir were the first people she had lost in this stupid war, and yet they still lived, one by sheer power, the other through his kin. And it made her heart leap a bit.

"Miss Baraz, safe travels. I hope the Shire is still as you remember it." Gandalf smiled like his old self, and she was reminded of the old boon launching fireworks into the air at a party of sorts.

She smiled back and looked to Faramir. "I was blessed to make your acquaintance, Faramir of Gondor. I shall treasure our conversations in my heart."

"Likewise, Miss Poppy," he answered with a gentle smile. He had caught to use her nickname, for Pippin, who was his constant companion, would not call her anything else.

She kissed his cheek too, and then turned to witness the parting of the Halflings with their friends.

Frodo and Sam were waiting, looking awkwardly at peace with their leaving, even if the former Ring-bearer - although apparently both could bear the name - was eyeing Gandalf as if his absence would be sorely felt.

When Merry and Pippin tackled Faramir to the ground, the whole group erupted in laughter, and Baraz joined. Yes, after all, it didn't have to really be goodbyes.

A hand tucked itself in hers, and she exchanged a smile with Fíli. "Ready?" he asked, and she nodded calmly.

She was.

* * *

The journey was a quiet one, without anything amiss on the road.

The Elves of Rivendell guided the Halflings and two Dwarves through roads they had not taken yet, through the yellow and brown land of Rohan - and Merry and Baraz were sad not to be able to visit Edoras - up to the rocky Gap of Rohan, and then they were staring into the West.

It was summer, would still be for a few weeks, and Baraz fell to her knees on the grass, her eyes welling up in tears as she gazed at the sea of green she could see as far as her eyes could. It was not the Shire, not yet, but last she had been in these parts, she was another person.

A hand touched her shoulder and she grasped it, starting a bit when she realised it was not Fíli as she expected, but Frodo, the unmissable feel of his missing finger his giveway.

She looked up into the baby-blue eyes, and he had a small smile on his lips. "We are not the same, Poppy, but this is our home. Where we were born. Shall we?"

She nodded and stood, her heart leaping in her throat when she realised that Frodo was the one who had changed the most. Sam had found his bravery; Merry had found his fire; Pippin had found some sort of wisdom; Fíli had become a man; she had become battle-hardened; but Frodo, Frodo had become an old soul. He had seen and lived too much to ever be cheerful again. His gaze upon the West was so sad and so empty that she thought he was an empty shell, filled with shadows and memories of a fire raging in his mind.

No, none of them was the same as before. But the Shire would redeem them, she was sure of it. She needed to be sure of it...

* * *

The West had been relatively safe from the War during all these months, and yet, as they made their way through the Wild and towards the North, the Elves and their Dwarven companions started seeing the unmistakeable signs of an army passing by.

Ashes of a hundreds fires, animal carcasses left to rot in the sun, and ever and ever, footprints too big to be any Man's.

"Ehlark," Baraz called one morning as the Elf - whom she had gotten acquainted to through his love of music - inspected traces of an even larger gathering, "_mani naa ta?_" _**What is it?**_

The Elf moved his auburn hair to the side and looked upon her gravely. "_Glamothea_," he whispered with hatred. _**Orcs.**_ "_Tanya naa n'quel__**." That is not good.**_

Baraz frowned and looked at the marks herself. It appeared that the beasts had taken the same route as them. Were they heading to the Hidden Valley? Or even further North, to the Ettenmoors?

Ehlark stood and looked down at her with a reassuring gaze. "_Heru en amin sintava._" _**My Lord will know.**_

She nodded, and their party started again in the pale morning. No one thought anything was amiss. Not the four Halflings talking about beds and second breakfasts anyway...

* * *

Rivendell. Home of the Lord Elrond and his kin, the High Elves of the West. Magnificent city buried in the Mountain and surrounded by air, water, earth, and the fire of the Sun.

Baraz had never felt more at peace than in this valley, and as she gazed upon the ivy-covered pillars for the first time in a year, a tear escaped her eye. She had a strong feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, and it eclipsed every other thought in that precise moment. _I am home._

"Mahal," Fíli breathed, and his fingers squeezed Baraz' shoulder as he passed her to stare at the city in awe. He had never seen an Elven city before, and to her, Rivendell was indeed the most beautiful. She smiled, and the smile turned into a delighted gasp when she saw two well-known figures coming to join their group from further up the bridge.

"Glorfindel!" she exclaimed, and the golden-haired Elf smiled widely, a sight most beautiful in the setting sun. Elrohir - or was it Elladan? - quietly greeted his fellow Elves, and the Hobbits were staring at him in awe, for the twins were indeed their father's spitting image, and they had not met them before, unlike herself.

"_Aier_," the tall Elf breathed. "I am so glad to see you again." He bowed the head and then offered her his arm, which she took with a smile wider than her face. "Come now, you need your peace."

Baraz looked up at her friend, then back at the Last Homely House West of the Sea. Yes, she would find her peace there...

And the Shire would wait for her...

* * *

_A/N: I just realise now that this chapter is awfully short... So I promise longer ones in the future. Just as it once was, and just as it should be. :)_


	31. 30, There will be peace

_A/N: Hello readers! I am back a day ahead of usual schedule, but seeing as I have been late several times, I thought I'd stop calculating. ;) Here is a chapter that I really liked writing because it gives Fíl a little more backstory and I adore him (and his uncle, whom he's based on)... Next time won't be as peaceful..._

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **The hidden valley, Moon runes, from the An unexpected journey OST; and Caras Galadhon from The Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**30\. There will be peace**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**22nd September**_

* * *

Being back in Rivendell was like being back in the world of dreams. Baraz had thought she would never again see this magnificent city, its pillars, its waterfalls, its trees, its courtyards, its fountains, its people... She had thought that peace was far behind her and that, perhaps, it would never again fill her heart with joy.

She had been wrong.

Her first step on Rivendell's bridge brought her back to happier memories, to feasts with her friends, with Arwen, with her Uncle Bilbo, with her Da, with the Fellowship before everything fell into darkness...

The company of six was brought to their chambers right away, and were given the time and peace they needed to refresh themselves and to change into more comfortable clothes.

* * *

Baraz had been given her mother's rooms once again. The sole change was that, this time, Arwen was not there to bring her her clothes, instead, a young Elleth who could not be older than two centuries helped her into a pair of leathes breeches, a small corset that hid her chest to the view, and an etheral sleeveless white tunic that held by a deep purple belt.

Fíli came into view once the young maid had exited the room. He himself was now clad in a royal blue linen shirt that highlighted the golden colour of his hair and the blue of his eyes. There was a glint there, something that told her that she was not the only one to walk in the world of dreams right then...

"You look...beautiful, Baraz," he said as he took her in. "But your hair needs rebraiding, _Azbad Gazardu_." She felt a shiver run up her spine at the sound of her title. She had not heard it in a long time by then, and it shook her off her dream slightly, long enough for her to grab the chain at her neck and toy with the memory of her mother, and of a shared forbidden moment in Erebor in the middle of a siege... "Baraz?"

She met her cousin's gaze and smiled sadly. "I'm not used to hearing it anymore, that's all..."

Fíli smiled back, his own tint of sadness linked within the turn of his lips. "It reminds you of Bard..." He did not wait for the answer. "Come, sit, I will braid your hair and tell you a secret."

Baraz sat on the bed, her cousin sitting on her right, gently removing the silver beads from her braids and untangling her red mane. Her hands folded in her lap, and she closed her eyes. Hair, braids, beads... All of that was the heritage of her father's blood, and yet, she had fled it, to be reunited with her mother's blood...or, rather, heart.

Fíli gently started to rebraid her hair, and she realised he was taking more than usual on the base of her scalp, meaning her scorched skull was slowly mending itself... "Do you remember when you came back to Erebor, and you had taken out my family's braids?"

Baraz twitched, wishing to see his eyes, but he kept her head in place. She could feel his smirk. "I do. You said it didn't matter because our charade had not fooled as many as we thought."

"Yes, and that was partly my fault..." He chuckled. "See, a little after you left with Gimli and Gloin and Frír for this mysterious meeting with the Elves, some Dwarves from the Blue Mountains came to settle in Dale. Merchants, for the most part."

Baraz gasped, and her right hand flew to meet with his knee. "You met someone!" She was elated. And sad, because her beloved cousin had not felt the need to tell her before...maybe she had not been ready to hear it back then...

"Her name is Ceassa." He chuckled again. "People say she might be half-Elven, because she has no beard."

"What is she like?"

"She has long brown hair, as dark as wet wood, and black eyes. Her father is a cloth merchant, and she is training to become a jeweller."

"She is of common birth," Baraz whispered. Fíli's fingers stilled in her hair, and he sighed.

"It is of little importance now. We have lost too many people in this war to still care about such trivial things. Thorin gave me his blessing before we left. She will soon wear my braids as you once did. But I intend to wed her as quickly as her father allows." He laughed, and Baraz felt herself smile.

"I thought...for a short time, I thought that maybe...maybe your feelings towards had changed..."

"You thought I had fallen in love with you," he breathed, and she could still feel his smile. "I thought I did too, when we were younglings. But no, dear cousin, as strongly as I love you, you are my kin, and if we don't share any blood, you are my sister."

Baraz turned the head at that, and his hands dropped from her hair. Fíli had always been sincere with her, and he was looking down at her with such affection that it brought tears to her eyes. He gently brought her to him, and both embraced, a moment of peace and love they both needed passing overhead.

* * *

One of the most unexpected things in Rivendell was the presence of yet another Hobbit. When Baraz walked into the dining hall with her cousin that night, she saw that her Halfling friends were already gathered around a tiny figure, almost child-like, with cotton-white hair and a big toothy smile that made her blink away tears.

"Miss Baraz," came the deep welcoming voice of Lord Elrond, "Prince Fíli. Welcome to Imladris."

Baraz met the tall Elf's dark eyes and smiled, eyes still wet with emotion. "_Heru en amin,_" she bowed the head, "thank you for giving us shelter and food in your home once again." _**My Lord.**_

"I said it once and I will say it again: anything you need, my dear friends, I shall give to you to the best of my abilities." He smiled kindly. "Come now, I believe your uncle had been waiting for your arrival all day."

Bilbo Baggins was by then 129 years of age, and the following day was his and Frodo's name day. How he had lived so long, no one knew, and as Baraz knelt in front of his small frame, she was struck by how fragile he looked, yet completely and utterly happy.

"Uncle," she breathed, and Bilbo laughed and embraced her as tight as he could with his frail arms.

"Poppy, my dear Poppy, you look like a grown-up now!" He untangled himself from her and examined her face and hair. "Yes, less Hobbit-like, more Dwarf-like, and yet, you look like your mother too, yes... Ha!" he then exclaimed, "you have a lot of things to tell me, the lot of you! Come now, let's eat! I haven't had anything to nib on since elevensies!"

Fíli took her hand and smiled, seeing how happy she looked at reuniting with her dear and old uncle, and both took place at the table, Baraz being squeezed in between Merry and Glorfindel, whom did not stop smiling at her throughout dinner.

* * *

On the morning of the second day, Baraz found herself up before dawn. She stood on her balcony, watching the water fall silently for long moments before she decided to take a walk and watch the sun rise from the orchard.

Last time she had been admist those mighty trees, Legolas was there. Dear Legolas, with his handsome face and wise words. It brought a smile to her face, just as she caressed one of the apple tree's bark.

"_Sut naa lle umien sina re, Aier?_" came the melodious voice soon after she sat down on a fallen trunk, facing the mountains which were slowly eaten away by the blaze of the rising sun. _**How are you doing today?**_

Baraz raised her gaze just enough to see the golden hair and silver gown of Glorfindel before he sat down next to her, long gracious limbs a stark contrast to her short and sturdy ones. "_Quel re, mellon-nîn. Amin quel._" _**Good day, my friend. I am well.**_

Glorfindel's fair eyes met hers. "_Lle anta est._" _**You need rest.**_

She lowered her gaze, and looked back at the sunrise, pink and orange melting in the sky before the fiery star came into view. "_Amin anta sîdh._" _**I need peace.**_

The Elf smiled kindly. In those moments, the Half-Dwarf realised how old he was. There was no scar on his beautiful face, but his eyes were sometimes haunted by the memory of centuries-old battles that had left invisible traces on his soul. "_Khila amin. Amin maieneva lle naden._" _**Come with me. I will show you something.**_

* * *

Baraz had never been so deep in the orchard before. Glorfindel weaved in-between trees that had grown so close to each other that it took her some time to squeeze in between some of them. The sunlight barely passed through their leaves, although autumn was upon them, and suddenly, she felt as if was in Mirkwood again.

The feeling didn't last, though, for their erupted in a perfectly round clearing, in the middle of which stood a gnarled old tree, bearing no fruit, and a crown of yellow leaves that were imperfect and falling already.

"_Tanya naa iaurorn nel Imladris._" _**This is the oldest tree in Imladris.**_

Baraz looked at it, and it reminded her of something. "_Naa ta Mallyrn?_" _**Is it a Mallorn tree?**_

Glorfindel laughed, the bell-like sound echoing around the surreal place. "_Ta naa._" _**It is.**_

Baraz moved closer, her fingers itching to touch the bark. The Elf beside her gently took her hand, and place it on a knot just above her height.

It could have been an illusion, a trick of the mind, but she felt as if the tree had a heartbeat. As if she could feel its life pulsing through the trunk and into her palm. And her breathing mirrored the rhythm, and suddenly, everything was much more peaceful...

She stood there for the good of two hours, and did not feel the passing of time at all...

* * *

When she came back to the city, the four - five - Halflings were being spoilt rotten for their lunch and Frodo and Bilbo's birthday. While the first smiled genuinely perhaps for the first time in a year, the second was adamant that all this nonsense about name-days was taking him away from his current work. Another song, no doubt...

Baraz joined in the party, her heart lighter and her smile wider after her strange encounter with an old tree. She was surprised to see Fíli join the meal alongside Master Elrond, with whom he was deep in conversation.

The furrow of his brow was nothing good...

"Fíli?" she asked in a small voice, "what is it?"

He shook his head. "Not now, _Kahay_."

And just like that, another wave of uneasiness chased away the peace that had settled in her heart, scarring her soul with yet another spot of dark thoughts...

Little did she know what exactly was going on West of there...


	32. 31, The scouring of the Shire

_A/N: I am so sorry for the delay, folks. This chapter proved harder to write than I thought, notibly because of my use of Khuzdûl that proved a bitch to build. Anyway, here it is, and Baraz and her friends finally reach the Shire. I used the book's reference but twisted it to fit my own tale, so sorry if it's not really truthful to Master Tolkien's work, at least for this chapter. The next ones will be better._

_Just a quick word to also note that this story is officially one book long, as we are reaching the 100,000 word-mark. I am amazed. This is amazing._

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Moon runes, from the An unexpected journey OST; and Keep it secret, keep it safe, from The Fellowship of the Ring OST._

* * *

**31\. The scouring of the Shire**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**2nd November**_

* * *

Some days passed, and the nagging feeling at the back of Baraz' head telling her something was wrong was not leaving her. No matter how long she spent in the orchard, touching the bark of the old Mallorn tree, no matter how long she spent walking around the gardens and courtyards with her aging uncle, no matter how peaceful Rivendell made her, there it was, all-consuming.

That and the knowledge that Fíli was accompanying her despite his promise to Ceassa to come back to marry her, made her feel very restless.

Until one morning, as the tree-leaves started falling in waves of orange, brown and gold, Fíli received a letter.

Elrohir was the one to bring it to the Dwarven prince as he sat down with her for breakfast. The look that was on the Elf's face was enough to make Baraz look at her cousin, who stood and chose not to share the news with her right away, and to make her stand too to question their host's son.

"_Elrohir_," she called in a small voice, "_mani marte?_" _**What happened?**_

The Elf lord turned to face her, his handsome features twisted into a frown. He shook his head slightly and looked over at Fíli, who was still standing a few feet away, reading the letter. "_Ro yeste'._" _**Him first.**_ He touched her shoulder for a second, then walked away.

* * *

Fíli came back to the table a few moments later, his brow furrowed and jaw jutting. He crumpled the letter in his fist as he sat back down, then he launched it at Baraz, who silently questioned him before reading it herself.

It was in Khuzdûl runes, and she had not read that language in so long it took her some time to decypher it.

"_Uzbad Fíli, o'rikh menu. Thane Thorin unabsut. Omiz menu maizdîni, uomrid Mahal bek. Tan menu selek lanun naman, Izbad Dwalin_." _**Lord Fíli, we need your help. King Thorin is gravely ill. It falls on you to rule us in his stead, should he pass away into the arms of Mahal. May your forge burn bright, General Dwalin.**_

It came as a shock, at first, that Fíli would have been effectively made heir to Thorin Stonehelm, but then again, he was of royal blood, and there still was a minority of Dwarves in the Lonely Mountain who questioned Thorin's legitimacy to Erebor's throne.

Baraz stared at the runes blankly before turning to her cousin. He was staring himself at his plate, eyes unfocussed, looking almost angry in the way his brows were locked in a downwards position. "Fíl?" she asked.

He turned to her, and his features did not relax. "I have to go."

"But-" she started, but, unsure of what to say, she did not continue.

"You read it, Baraz. I am heir now. If Thorin dies, I am to be King, and I have to be there if and when it happens." He stood abruptly, and left her at the table as he strode towards the stairs leading to Master Elrond's study.

Baraz stared blankly after him, shocked and tired, perhaps, to be constantly reminded of the problems of their world and of the responsibilities coming with high birth. Then, in a second, she remembered she herself was part of Thorin Stonehelm's counsel, and that she should be in Erebor.

Maybe the Shire was not her real home...?

* * *

"My Lady," came the gentle call a little while later. Fíli had not reappeared from Master Elrond's rooms, and Baraz had gone to sit by the waterfall, its calming sound somehow soothing her raging thoughts.

It was a young male by the name of Durlan. And he insisted on speaking the common tongue to her, as he had barely passed his three hundredth spring and his studies were barely behind him.

She nodded to him and he sat down next to her. She knew something was wrong the moment he looked at her again with big brown eyes filled with worry. Strange for such a joyful child... "What is it?"

He took a breath, then two. "I thought you ought to know, My Lady. Your Halflings friends are packing, Madam. They received word that the Shire is under attack. From the White corrupted Wizard."

Baraz processed all information in a daze. It already added to what troubles she had had since that morning and the turmoil it had started within her. The Shire was in danger. Under attack from Saruman himself.

She rose, hands shaking as she pondered. Was she to save the Shire, or to ride to Erebor and take responsibilities for the title that had been offered to her?

She stood there, water dribbling onto her from the water she was standing next to. And then, suddenly, her choice was made. She turned to the youngster, bowed the head, and asked "Where is my cousin?"

Durlan's eyes had widened a bit, as if he had been surprised to see her reaction at first. Then he said, "He still has not left our Lord's side."

She nodded, and left.

* * *

Master Elrond and Fíli were still deep in conversation when she erupted into the ivy-roofed room. Neither of them were surprised to see her, for her cousin sighed and gestured her to join his side. Beside them both, she noticed, was not a map of Middle-Earth but of the Shire.

"Fíl?"

He took her hands, looking more serious than he had in a long time. "I have to go. But you don't. You have to help your people. Master Elrond has agreed to give me a small escort. You have to go. Now."

Baraz' eyes went from him to Elrond, who was regarding them with sad eyes but with a small smile that was almost translating pride. "_Heru en amin?_"

He bowed the head slightly. "It is your choice, Miss Baraz. You know that your little friends can fend for themselves now, but the question remains: which way will your path lead you? East or West?"

Her eyes slipped to the map behind them, and she saw the White Hand sigil of Saruman spread across Frogmorton, the South Farthings, and Hobbiton itself. Her blood started to boil in anger, and she squeezed Fíli's hands harder.

When their eyes met, he simply nodded. "You should leave as soon as possible," he simply said, before drawing her into a hug. Baraz hugged him back, as strongly as she could, once again filled with the knowledge that they could very well never see each other again. Yet another battle was separating them.

"I will see you soon, brother," she concluded before hurrying back down and towards her room to pack.

* * *

The company of five left in the little hours of the following day, shown to the Bruinen by Glorfindel and Fíli, who was to leave himself a little later. Baraz had been graced a map from Master Elrond's own collection, to make sure they would not get lost in the Wild.

Last time, after all, they had all had a guide. She and Uncle Bilbo had had Glorfindel, what seemed like an age prior; and the Hobbits had had Strider, the Ranger name of Aragorn.

True to their selves, the four Halflings told her tales of their adventures in the Wild for days and nights to go. Pippin, mostly, recalled the flies and mosquitos of the marshes Aragorn had made them walk through to Weathertop.

When, in the early days of October, they reached the dire-looking hill, Frodo looked at it with grave eyes, rubbing his shoulder absent-mindedly while wincing at the same time. Baraz decided to settle camp further away, so they did not see its broken shape in the night.

* * *

On the second day of November, in the winds and chills of the late autumn, they finally reached the borders of their Green Country. It was already dark, almost night, and they discovered that the bridge of Frogmorton was closed, barricaded with everything that had been found. Beside it, a small house had been hastily built, and an even hastier sign had ben planted there, reading "No entry".

Frodo knocked on the door with his walking stick, and although there was light inside, no one answered or opened to see who visited that late.

"There is no passing this barricade, Master Frodo," Sam lamented while rubbing his sore feet. They had walked quite a bit that day, in the hope to reach their land as quickly as possible.

Baraz walked to it, and was surprised to see that it was tall enough to prevent even Men from passing. As if the people on the other side had expected taller kin to visit, or maybe attack. "We are not entering here tonight. Let's camp, and see what tomorrow brings."

But just so, as the four Halflings settled for sleep, Merry and Pippin loudly cursing the lack of propriety of whomever garded the bridge, Baraz did not sleep a wink. Across the river, she could see a flickering light that told her that somewhere beyond their position, something was burning.

So she gripped her bow harder, and she stared at the orange-y light until it disappeared at dawn...

* * *

_A/N2: I apologize to those of you who studied Khuzdûl, for I used an online dictionary and tried to build it from there. But it's harder than Elvish in that regard. Feel free to criticize._


	33. 32, Yet another fight

_A/N: Hi everyone! Here I am with the latest chapter to date. I'm almost done with this story and have almost finished writing the last chapters. If I'm not mistaken (and I rarely am), we should say goodbye to Baraz and the others in about five chapters, including this one. :)_

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Concerning Hobbits from the Fellowship of the Rings OST; and A far green country from the Return of the King OST._

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**32\. Yet another fight**

* * *

_**3019 T.A.**_

* * *

_**3rd November**_

* * *

The Halflings were still soundly asleep when dawn arose on the bridge and the small encampment that the company had built close to the shore of the river. Baraz was still staring ahead, her jaw jutted, her fingers gripping bow and arrow as if she was expecting the Witch King of Angmar himself to come down from the skies.

When the birds abruptly stopped their chirping an hour after sunrise, she jumped to her feet and woke the four little ones. Surprisingly, none, not even the always-hungry Pippin, complained about the lack of first breakfast that morning.

After a bit of conferring, the five companions went back to the barricaded bridge and found the house built next to it open, an old-looking Hobbit standing guard in front of it with a pitchfork.

When he saw them, and when his eyes fell on the bow Baraz was pointing at the ground in case, he raised his own arm, and stuttered "D-d-d-don't come cl-closer!"

Frodo raised a hand and all four of his friends stopped. His hand, Baraz noticed, was lazily resting on Sting's pommel. "I am Frodo Baggins, coming home from the War. What news, friend?"

"Frodo Baggins is dead!" the Hobbit exclaimed. "Lotho Sacville-Baggins is living up there now."

Frodo and Sam exchanged a glance and when the ice-blue eyes of the first met Baraz' own cold ones, she nodded harshly and raised the bow slightly. It made the guard weary. "We are not looking for trouble, merely wishing to pass through. Why is the bridge barricaded so?"

"Orders from Bag End!" the old one answered, teary eyes locked onto the arrow that was slowly raising into his face. "Chief doesn't want any more strangers coming through."

Merry and Pippin repeated 'Chief' with quite a bitter edge in their voice, while Baraz rose to her full height - quite over the old Hobbit's head, to be sure - and said "Any _more_? Who has been here?"

The poor old guard shook his head. "I wouldn' know, Miss. That's all I heard."

Frodo raised his hand towards Baraz again, as if asking for peace, and then took a careful pace towards his compatriot. "Come now. We are no strangers. Behind me is Merry Brandybuck, whose family ails close from here. Peregrïn Took and Samwise Gamgee are from Hobbiton, as am I. Frodo Baggins I truly am, not dead although some tried. And here to my left is Miss Poppy, or Baraz as some know her, daughter of Miss Ariana who lived up the Hill too."

The wet eyes turned to her again. "I remember that tale enough. Tall folk thinking she belongs and all that. People talk about her, and her bloodlust. Say she killed her Ma and Mister Bilbo."

Baraz growled but again Frodo paced forward. "She did no such things. Come now, let us through. We do not wish for any trouble. Merely to go home."

The old Hobbit pondered for a long moment, eyes going back and forth between Frodo's kind smile and Baraz' frown - she had, after all, been quite insulted. Then he lowered the pitchfork and said "Alright, but if you get caught, I wasn't here!"

Frodo nodded his assent, while Merry quietly wondered to Baraz why he looked so afraid of _Lotho Sacville _out of everyone. And she agreed: he was an idiot, a moron for sure, but by no means was he impressive or scary.

* * *

At last the companions moved up the bridge and onto dry land. Although the grass was green, there was a definite atmosphere of _wrong_ happening there.

They walked at a hasty pace, stopping only for a quick meal at noon, and they carried on until finally, around four in the afternoon, they came in sight of the Green Dragon.

Baraz stopped in her tracks when she realised just what she was seeing.

The inn that had once been the pinnacle of happiness and drunkenness, where every Hobbits in the Four Farthings gathered in times of summer or winter, was standing, rooftop burnt, windows smashed, walls almost destroyed, and in front of it, a group of about six or seven tall Men sat, sipping on ale of something of the same nature.

Her blood started boiling and she directly moved her cloak off her shoulders and notched again. No matter if those Men, when noticing her, rose to be much taller than her. She had killed taller Uruks.

* * *

"Who are you and what business do you have here?" she bellowed as the four Hobbits strode behind her.

The man she was poiting her arrow at laughed crassly at her words. "What do we have here lads? A tall Hobbitlass with a pointy stick!" The others laughed too, and that made her even angrier. She pulled onto the bowstring harder, and he leaned in, not discouraged in the least. "We're taking what is there for us to take."

Frodo had once more intervened, walking past his angry cousin and silently lowering her weapon. "Who did you follow here, pray tell?"

Another round of laughter. "Why, surely not that old pimple over there-" he pointed behind him to the hills, "-Sharkey's our master, and he said this country is ours to take."

"Sharkey?" Pippin asked. "Who is this man?"

"He's no man," the ruffian exclaimed.

Frodo's eyes darkened, and his words surprised his companions. "Saruman has been defeated. There is no need for him to do this."

Another roar of throaty chuckles. "Oh was he?"

One of the ruffians walked up while the other spoke, perhaps hoping to sneak onto Baraz, but she was more battle-hardened than he, and he had not soon enough reached for her shoulder that his hand was impaled onto an arrow.

She notched an arrow in less time than it took him to shout out in pain. "The next one will land in your eye," she hissed.

Merry, Pippin and Sam came to rest at her sides, their small swords raised. They too had a purpose in their eyes, but still, Frodo stood, not moving.

"I think you ought to let us pass," he calmly said. "My friends are not as patient as I am, and they have fought bigger and tougher beings than yourselves."

The somewhat leader stared at the four smaller people, their eyes screaming for blood and their hands gripping their weapons with intent.

"Go then," he just said, and his men and himself retreated into the shadows of the broken inn as they passed.

* * *

"This is unacceptable!" Pippin shouted a few moments later. "They have forgotten the price for impudence!"

"They have not seen the things we did," Merry said sadly. "Those men used to live in Isengard before...before it was destroyed."

"Well they are doing a lovely job at avenging their home!" Sam growled.

Frodo and Baraz remained silent. The first because he was tired of fighting, the second because she wanted to murder the world. She could not unsee the Green Dragon's state, it was something that would remain engraved in her mind for years to come.

"Let's raise everyone" Merry then said much more calmly. "They have been hiding for too long. Time to fight for our homes!"

Frodo was looking weary as he hung his head low, but he nodded. As tired as he was, as tormented, he could not deny the fact that the Shire needed its own rising. "Go." he simply said. "Baraz and I will remain here."

* * *

Sam went to the Cottons' farm - he had always had a crush on the girl, Rosie, whose father was as tough as there was - then to his own father, old Hamfast; Merry rose the rest of the village using the horn of Rohan and the cry of Buckland; and Pippin brought whomever was keen on fighting.

Soon, there was at least a hundred Hobbits, both male and not, armed with what they could have found. Pitchforks, shovels, kitchen knives, walking sticks, sometimes even frying pans. Baraz looked upon them with a mixture of pride and of fear.

She had vouched once before to protect Hobbits from the harms of war. Would she be able to at last do by her oath?

An hour after the first rising gathered, people from Buckland and Tuckborough - the lands of Merry and Pippin respectively - started arriving in great numbers, helping the numbers to a good five hundreds.

Merry was the lead Captain, as the Hobbits would later refer to him as. He was concocting a plan, placing people here and there, building a fort of some sort onto a steep hill with the street being soon barricaded with everything that could be found. It wasn't as high as the one on Frogmorton bridge, but the purpose was not to stop, rather to slow.

Archers were placed onto higher spots, and under Baraz' jurisdiction. To her surprise though, Frodo joined her, his eyes weary and a frown on his features.

"Frodo?" she enquired just as Jolly Cotton came running up the hill saying that the ruffians were heading their way in great numbers. "What is the matter?"

He did not look up at her, but his fingers went to his neck as if he was looking for a chain that was not there anymore. "I do not wish to fight, Baraz. I've done too much of that already." His eyes then met hers. "Do you understand?"

She lowered the arrow she had ready, and suddenly her own arms felt without stamina. She nodded, and thought about her growing hair, the damage made to it by flame provoked by war, and the losses she had dealt before that. "I understand, my dear friend. But I will let those men attack our homes. I apologize." He nodded back, but remained silent.

* * *

The ruffians' leader was the one they had encountered at the Green Dragon's now empty shell. He stopped at the barricade, a good fifty men behind him - all armed with clubs and knives and far bigger than any Hobbit in their way. "What's this?" he shouted.

In front of him, Merry climbed onto an upturned wardrobe, the horn of Rohan in one hand, his sword in the other. "You are surrounded, my good sirs. My people will not stand for this any longer. Begone, or suffer the consequences." His voice was echoing all around from their point of view, and soon, they could hear the creaks and cracks of hinges where the surrounding hills were opening doors and windows to hear.

The leader laughed again, that crass sound that made Baraz adjust her aim almost unknowingly. He was mocking them, underestimating their numbers and intent. "Get them lads!" he shouted back, and as the other ruffians raised their weapons at the barricade, she released, the arrow burying itself with a deadly 'chunk' into the leader's throat.

His eyes looked for her in the fading evening light, and they widened before he fell dead.

The other ruffians, at that, stopped, and when they realised they were indeed quite outnumbered, they lowered their weapons just enough for Pippin and his folk to come rushing and knock them out.

"Tie them up! They'll have a taste of the Lockdowns themselves!" Merry exclaimed, and the ruffians were carried away by armies of small hands while the others regrouped.

Baraz notched again, a lump forming in her throat. Frodo was staring dead ahead, but she knew what he was thinking. And she agreed. "I should not have killed him," she whispered, but he did not answer.

* * *

A few other ruffians came into the night, but soon there were no more, and Merry remained back while Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Baraz and a three dozens others strode up the path towards Bag End.

The road to Bagshot Row was a vision of nightmare. No more trees, fields upturned and muddy, huts built everywhere the eye could see. And there, on top of the hill, where Bag End lay, seemingly untouched, was a tall figure wearing rags.

"Saruman!" Baraz exclaimed at the same time as she raised her bow. "You have met your end!"

But before she could release and end the evil wizard's life, he looked down at her with those dark eyes of his, and she realised without having ever met him that he was powerless, and that he, too, was tired and weary. She stilled her hand.

"Oh have I, Baraz Bofurdottir? Have I indeed?" He clicked his fingers, and out of a hut came a slouched figure that Baraz did not recognize, although Merry did.

"Grima Wormtongue, you traitor! Come down here, so I can repay Lady Eowyn's debt!" he snarled, and Baraz gritted her teeth, for she understood he had wronged one of her acknowledgedly newest but also dearest friends.

Frodo raised his hand for peace again, and turned to the old gnarled wizard. "Your master is no more, Saruman. There is not need for you to be here and spread terror anymore. Begone, and no harm shall be done to you. You have my word." Although behind him, the hobbits were all hissing 'Kill him, kill the murderer, the criminal' and his companions were asking for blood themselves.

"How grand you think you are now, Frodo Baggins," Saruman snarled. "You thought your precious home was protected and safe while you were off riding with much taller being than yourself? How wrong you were. You dear Gandalf himself did not do anything to stop my hand!"

Frodo was not hindered by this. "As you can see, my folk can fend for themselves now. Do you really wish to die under their hand?"

The wizard's ensuing smile was sickening, and yet again Baraz' hand tightened around her bow. "Indeed I do not." He clicked his tongue as one would to call a dog. "Come now Worm. Once again we are sent onto the road."

* * *

They both went to go down the path, but as he reached Frodo, Saruman drew out a dagger, and before Baraz could aim and released, he had struck. Unfortunately for his old arm, there was a mithril coat hidden under that cloak, and the blade broke, sending him onto his knees.

Frodo raised a hand again as Sam came charging with a mighty growl. "Peace, my friends. Saruman, as you can see, there is no defeating me or us today. Go now, and hope that the shadow of Mordor does not consume you further." He paused, and his blue eyes fell onto the pitiful man crouching next to his master. "Wormtongue, you have done me no wrong. You may remain, feed and rest, then go your own way if you so wish."

Saruman, from where he was still sitting awkwardly on the ground, laughed high and loud. "No wrong? No wrong indeed! Worm, come now, tell dear Master Frodo what you did!" Wormtongue shook his head as if begging, but no sound escaped his lips. "Tell him how you came into the night, with your knife, and killed his cousin Lotho, tell him!"

There was a clamour into the ranks, a shock as well, and then a scream as Wormtongue rose to his full height just to bring a knife down onto Saruman's throat. Blood spilled, staining the road, and the wizard fell, dead.

The shell of a man tried to run, but before he could reach the fields, a half-dozen arrows - none of which were Baraz' - buried themselves into his back and he, too, fell dead.

* * *

Silence fell onto the road, then Frodo sighed.

"And thus ends the Wars of the Ring."

He turned to his friends with a weak smile, and all nodded, a weight lifting from the shoulders as they lowered their swords and bows for good.

The War was over.


	34. 33, A promise broken

_A/N: Hi there! I'm back with a short-as-sh** chapter and I apologize for the filler that is going to come in a second. I just felt like it was right to end it the way I did. Especially since there are not a lot of chapter left and it's still very strange to think that in a few weeks, I'd end this two-year-long journey. I've loved every second of it. Middle-Earth definitely changes lives, including writers'._

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Concerning Hobbits from the Fellowship of the Ring OST; and Old Friends from the An unexpected journey OST._

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**33\. A promise broken**

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_**3021 T.A.**_

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_**August**_

* * *

Baraz woke up on a sunny morning, a smile on her lips. Today, she was to help the younglings gathered cherries in the orchard, and bring them to Mistress Daisy for the biggest tart the Shire will have ever seen.

She dressed quickly and gathered her long hair into an intricate bun on her skull. As she strode through the hobbit-hole, memories of the previous years littering the walls and tables, she could not feel happier. The war was behind her, troubles had gone with it, and the scars of a great fire had finally faded on her skin.

She was the same as before, untroubled, and happy.

Or was she?

* * *

After the Battle of Bywater - thus it was called, although it was not much of a battle to be sure - the rebuilding of the Shire had taken quite some time. Replanting trees for example had taken the best of the next spring, and the huts and sheds which had been built all around had been used to repair the hobbit-holes that had been damaged.

Although the Green Dragon had by then been rebuilt for quite some time, it was still difficult for most people to unsee its broken shell, and a sign had been placed in front of it, humbly saying 'Because this inn has stood the test of time and ruffians'.

In March 3020, Samwise Gamgee had married Rosie Cotton, and subsequently they had both moved in with Frodo in Bag End. Sam had been made his old friend's sole heir, and when their first child Elanor was born, Frodo himself was appointed godfather, and in turn he chose her name, in honour of the 'sun-stars in the West'.

Frodo Baggins, Baraz' somewhat cousin, was seldomly seen out of Bag End anymore, and when he was, his skin was pale and his smile false, as if he was still tormented and haunted by the horrors of what he had endured. When she saw him, Baraz felt undescribebly sad...

Merry and Pippin had also gone their own way, to their homeland namely, and Pippin had been appointed Thain of the Shire. Baraz visited him from time to time, revelling in the youngster's spirit that had never faltered, and the memories of him she still kept from his childhood.

The Shire had forgotten about any Ring or White Wizard, and by the time the summer of 3021 rose, it was as if nothing had changed at all.

And Baraz was striving to prove them right.

* * *

But, as all who had seen the world during that time, she could not deny what she had lived and been through for too long. Nightmares, of a vivid nature, still awoke her at night, and she was grateful for living alone, for she could not have hoped to live through it if her father had been there.

Whenever her thoughts went to Bofur, Baraz found herself crying. Her dear father was still in Erebor, and the last letter she had sent, over three months prior, had not yet received answer.

When she had sent word of her staying in the Shire - first to help rebuild and then finding excuses not to leave - he had been understanding but unhappy. Things in Erebor were improving greatly, according to him, and Thorin's health had come back to its best, which had in turn permitted the monarch to take a wife and queen.

But none of that interested Baraz. Not even news of her dear Fíli. She was trying her hardest to forget about Erebor, Dale, and who was there waiting for her. The necklace around her neck was no longer a fond memory of a kiss stolen in a corridor, or of ensuing talks of marriage, but a fond memory of her mother.

Her home was still littered with souvenirs from Ariana's life, and Baraz wished she had known how her mother had been privy to the horrors to come. For she was now persuaded that Ari had known beforehand, and somehow, that the red leather book had something to do with it.

* * *

"Miss Poppy, Miss Poppy!" came the little shriek as she was launching handfuls of cherries onto the younglings heads.

She had been climbing trees and staining her clothes for hours by then, and the small hobbitlings were thoroughly enjoying catching the spoils of the riping. Their mothers would not be as happy, but you only were children once, as some said.

"What is it, Lily?" she asked as the slightly older girl came running through the trees.

"There's someone in Bag End, Miss! Someone asking for you!"

"A visitor?" Baraz uselessly answered. She wondered who it was, but then thought that young Lily would not know Merry or Pippin for both had not been seen in a long time in Hobbiton, and she was after all merely fifteen, which was extremely young still for a Hobbit lass.

She jumped down the tree, scaring a few of the kids in the process, and ruffled a boy's hair as she passed, smearing him with cherry juice. "Bring that over to Mistress Daisy, darlings. She'll have enough for today I think."

They all went running downhill, including Lily, while she started her stroll towards Bagshot Row. All the while, she wondered who it was who was disturbing her tranquillity, but something inside of her, it seemed already knew the answer.

* * *

When she reached Bag End, no one was in, but it was not a surprise, for it was a lovely day indeed. So she climbed the steep hill towards the back garden, and what, or who, she saw there made her stop on her tracks.

Frodo, as was usual, was sitting under the shade of a tree, reading. Rosie was plucking flowers, humming something under her breath while balancing baby Elanor in her lap. Sam was pouring lemonade into their guest's glass, and as soon as she saw the blonde braided mane, her heart missed a beat.

"Fíli?!"


	35. 34, The wrong choices

_A/N: Hello once again dear readers! This chapter is more of a filler, really, because I believe you clever enough to have guessed at least part of why Fíli's suddenly coming to Baraz. Next chapter will be more interesting I hope. ;)_

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_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Concerning Hobbits; May it be from The Fellowship of the Ring's OST._

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**34\. The wrong choices**

* * *

_**3021 T.A**_

* * *

_**22nd September**_

* * *

"Fíli?" her voice repeated, as if repeating would make it more real.

Her cousin turned the head slowly, and Baraz was struck at how stern he looked, how much older than when she had left him at Rivendell he seemed. She almost faltered on her way to the bench.

Sam stood with a small smile. "We'll leave you to it," he said quietly, gesturing Rosie to follow him back inside with the baby. Frodo, a little further away, was still swallowed head first in his book and did not move.

"What...what..." she started, but she knew the question was not to be asked. Fíli stood, harshly, abruptly, something he had not done in a long time and even then, it had been out of childish spite. And not at her.

"Lady Baraz Gazardu," he growled, and Baraz sat down, feeling like a child being scorned. Suddenly, those two years she had spent in the Shire felt like the worst betrayal ever.

And she had seen nothing yet.

"Lady Baraz, I am here to announce a good news. One I thoroughly hope you will attend." Baraz was tempted to ask if he was finally getting married to that girl he had fallen for, but she could not remember her name, and for that, she felt too ashamed to ask. She was wrong anyway. "King Bard II of Dale has announced his marriage."

Baraz felt all colour leave her face, safe for the spots of cherry juice that still smeared her. Her heart sunk in her chest and her hand unwillingly flew to her neck and the ring she still wore.

She stood, feeling faint and extremely hot under the sun, but before she could indeed faint, Fíli had caught her, much more softly than she would have expected at his tone of voice.

He sighed while holding her up. "Come, let's talk inside."

* * *

Rosie needed to give Baraz some calming tea before she could sit in the parlour, more or less in a quieter mood. Her heart was by then beating furiously in her chest, almost to the point where it was painful, and she felt her eyes prickle with tears, but she could not pinpoint the emotion she felt.

She was all of a sudden, by a single phrase, reduced to realise her errors and what they had cost her. She had promised a man she had let herself fall for that she'd give him an answer to his proposal, that she'd come back to him. And she did neither.

She had abandoned Erebor, her duties as King's counsellor but worse even, her duties as a daughter. And Bofur had not sent her a letter in far too long. But maybe...

"Da sent you, didn't he?"

Fíli sighed again and sat down opposite her. "We both discussed it. Along with Sigrid."

Sweet, innocent Sigrid. She should be eighteen by then, old enough to be married... "How is she?"

"She tried to counter the greed of the counsellors by offering her own hand to Thorin, but he refused. Said she was too young and too frail."

"What...what do you mean? What counsellors?"

Fíli sighed again, and she could see his jaw jutting, as if his anger was springing forth again. She prepared herself to receive the blow, but it never came. "When I returned to Erebor, the King's Counsel, along with Bard's, were already discussing a possible alliance between our people. Bard announced his wish to marry you, but no one believed him." A growl. "You were away, and had told no one of his proposal. Not even your own father."

"I told _you_," she tried with a little voice. She was feeling that lump that made her eyes tear up again.

"And I vouched for you. But Frír and the other generals reminded the rest of the Counsel that _we _had once been betrothed, and that it had been a sham. They refused to see you as a potential Queen of Dale." The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was about to smile. "Thorin himself advised to wait for your return from the Shire."

His face grew sterner again, and Baraz took a sip of tea, eyes closed and knuckles white from gripping the cup. She did not need to voice her thoughts. It was plain as day.

She had waited too long.

"When a year passed and you did not return, rumours arose that you had died or that you had betrayed your blood for the Halflings' sake. The Counsel grew greedy again, and new members started plotting against Dale if they refused an alliance. Bard had no other choice than to choose a wife among our Dwarrowdams." Fíli gritted his teeth, and Baraz felt uneasy.

"Who is he to wed?" She was convinced there was no going back, and there wasn't. She had lost Bard, she knew it. She'd not fight it. She had made the worst mistake in the world...

Fíli did not answer for a long minute, then he stood and faced the wall, and Baraz understood. She gasped, and the word that followed confirmed her fears. "_Ceassa_." He sucked in a deep breath. "Her father concluded the deal without telling her or I."

Baraz shut her eyes again. "I am so sorry Fíl..."

He whirled around in a sudden move that startled her, and the fire in his eyes was entirely frightful. "Come with me, Baraz. Come home and settle this madness... I cannot lose her," he said, his voice breaking.

Baraz set the tea aside, her throat squeezed by the lump growing there. She felt tears fall freely on her cheeks, but her voice was strong as she neared him. "I'll come. I can forsake my happiness for I deserve the blow; but I will not be the reason for your own unhappiness. I cannot bear it."

Fíli grabbed her hand furiously, and kissed her knuckles several times. "Thank you, sweet cousin, thank you..."

The despair in his words made her weep.

* * *

Fíli's unhappiness was plain as day for the following weeks he remained with his cousin. At first, she thought the air of the Shire had the same positive effect it had on her; but at night, when they said their goodnight, she could see his fake smile fading, and sometimes, she could hear his nightmares from across the hall.

Baraz had been adamant: since Bard was to be wed only in January of the following year, they would not leave until her Uncle Bilbo's 131st birthday. It would mark a milestone, since he'd then surpass the Old Took in age; and she also knew it'd be the last time she'd see him.

Frodo and Sam had announced Gandalf's wish to depart Middle-Earth with Bilbo and to sail for Valinor, the Undying Lands, after Bilbo's birthday. But as the event had to be set up in Rivendell for the old Hobbit's sake, it was the perfect excuse Baraz needed to go and see her folk one last time.

* * *

When they departed from the Shire, Baraz had the distinct thought that she effectively would never come back again. And yet, it did not bring her the unease she had had several years prior, but more peace than before.

She was not the same she had been then. The Shire was untouched by what she had seen and done. She did not deserve its purity, and its quietness unsettled her on some occasions.

Sometimes she started and reached for an invisible bow when a kid or a goat broke some pottery in front of her neigbours' houses. She was waiting for an invisible foe to attack, and when she had realised this, she also came to the conclusion that the War had scarred her beyong repair.

Fíli sent word to Erebor that he would return to the Mountain shortly after Christmas time if the weather allowed, but he silenced Baraz' return. He thought, and she agreed with him, that some of the generals might move in their absence to counter her in their prejudice.

Baraz really wished she could fix the mess she had created. She conjured an image of Bard at least once a day, trying to remember the exact blue of his eyes of the way his smile had sent butterflies in her stomach from the beginning.

She'd break his marriage, for Fíli's sake. No matter who Bard married afterwards.

* * *

Rivendell, in the gentle warmth of September, was as beautiful as it had always been.

Baraz stepped into the bridge over the Bruinen with tears springing in her eyes. She realised how this place had immediately become like a haven for her and her thoughts. First when she had gone back to Erebor with her father, so long prior; then when she returned for the Council of Lord Elrond; then again when her Company came back to the Shire.

Always her thoughts had been raging, always she had felt them dim and quieten under the peace of the place.

And that time was no different.

They were announced to the Lord Elrond at the same time as they learnt of Glorfindel's absence. He had gone to escort the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn from Lórien to the Grey Havens. Baraz would miss his presence greatly but, she realised with bitterness, Middle-Earth would miss the Lady of Light even more...

* * *

"Poppy!" came the greeting not long after they had thanked Lord Elrond for his hospitality yet again. Pippin, now taller than he had been and definitely more dashing, erupted from one of the courtyards and bowed before her. "I did not know you were coming!"

She chuckled while she embraced the youngling. However powerful he had become, whatever responsibilities he had been given, Pippin was still only 31 years of age. Not yet grown-up in the eyes of his folk. "I would not have missed it for the world!" She paused, searching for other Halflings hidden behind pillars. "Is Sam not coming? He left a bit before us."

"He arrived two days ago. Elanor proved to like the Wild a bit too much and made a fuss when her parents tried to leave it." Fíli laughed at that, and Pippin followed, while Baraz pondered. Such a behaviour was peculiar in a Hobbit. Whoever her parents were...

"Frodo is here also, of course, and he planned the whole thing alone. Merry and I wanted fireworks, but he voted against it. Lord Elrond helped us find some replacement, elven magic of some sorts." Pippin was babbling, but it was refreshing and so familiar that Baraz felt at ease again.

When she stepped into her usual rooms, she noticed perhaps for the first time in years that there was a painting on the far-end wall. A painting...of her mother.

* * *

"Poppy, you must sing, come now, sing!"

Bilbo Baggins, aged 131 years, was as alert as he had always been. Much more wrinkled and tiny beyond belief, but alert and cheeky and everything a Hobbit ought to be.

Baraz, who had been enjoying a game of riddles with Elladan - or was it Elrohir? she always got them mixed up - shook her head. "Uncle, please, I have not sung in a long time..." her smile was small and sad, and Frodo's mirrored hers.

She had not sung since she had left the Shire near on 20 years prior...

"A small one, come now, it's my birthday, child!"

Fíli chuckled from where he sat, and he and Merry started clapping in encouragement. "Come on Baraz!" he urged.

She sighed, but smiled wider. "Very well then..."

And in the middle of the night, close to a fire and surrounded by Elves and Halflings she would leave a few days later perhaps forever, she started singing...

"_May it be an evening star_

_Shines down upon you._

_May it be when darkness falls_

_Your heart will be true._

_You walk a lonely road,_

_Oh! How far you are from home..._

_Mornie utulie_

_Believe and you will find your way,_

_Mornie alantie_

_A promise lives within you now..._"


	36. 35, The return

_A/N: Hello my dear readers! Sorry for the slight delay, moving out and in took a toll on my social life... But I'm back, and this is the third-to-last chapter to this amazingly long story! :'(_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Elven nightfall from the Battle for Middle-Earth 2 OST; The Woodland Realm and Girion, Lord of Dale from the Desolation of Smaug OST._

* * *

**35\. The return**

* * *

_**2 F.A.**_

* * *

_**5th January**_

* * *

Leaving Rivendell behind perhaps for the last time in her life was by far the hardest thing Baraz ever had to do. Battling an Orc? Easy. Finishing a Troll off? Piece of cake. Flying atop an Eagle? Ha! But leaving the city she had begun to think of as a safe haven? Hardest thing of all...

On the morning of the 25th day of September, Lord Elrond stood on the bridge above the Bruinen, waiting for his guests to come and wish him goodbye. He and his own company were to leave the Elven City, along with the seven Hobbits, to journey to the Grey Havens.

Baraz felt undeniably sad as she stared at the tiny figure of her uncle being gently hoisted in a cart. She knew what was going to happen. She knew that the Sixth Ring-Bearer was to be taken on a ship sailing towards Valinor, the Undying Lands.

But she also knew that the grave look on Frodo's face meant something else than just sadness upon leaving Imladris. She knew her childhood friend was still plagued by nightmares and memories of what the One had planted in his soul. She knew his troubles, saw them daily, and secretly, she knew that he, too, wished to leave Middle-Earth.

* * *

The first group Baraz moved to say goodbye to was Samwise, his wife Rosie, and their baby daughter Elanor. Rosie's belly, by then slightly swollen, was showing the life living underneath, and as they embraced, Baraz thanked the Hobbit lass for her hospitality and wished her and the baby to be born the best of lives.

Sam shed a tear upon embracing her, something she'd have thought impossible before and during the Quest. They had not known each other very well at that time, and even if Baraz had known Sam's father Hamfast much better, the younger Gamgee was a definitely more discreet person.

Merry and Pippin made a fuss of everything when it was their turn, promising visits from both parties and crying their fill until Baraz had to gently push them away. Lord Elrond seemed very amused when she reached him, but he did not voice his thoughts concerning the younger Halflings.

Baraz thanked the Elf-Lord for the umpteenth time in her short life, and they exchanged quiet words in the Elven tongue before Baraz reached the cart and its occupants.

Bilbo, as usual, did not really understand the weight of their separation, thinking they'd see each other soon to hear the newest song he was writing. It made Baraz' heart leap with some of the happiness that was left in that old Hobbit's soul.

* * *

"Poppy..." came the gentle whisper as Frodo's arms closed around her torso.

"Frodo..." she answered in kind, squeezing his frame as hard as she could, perhaps in the hope that some of her strength would pass over to him. "Be kind to yourself."

He moved away a bit, a sad smile on his lips and an instictive hand going to his wounded shoulder. "We have seen too many things, my old friend. It is time for us to rest."

She nodded gravely, a tear escaping her eye. "Yes. Let's try and forget all of that gruesome adventure. Start afresh." She wanted to hint at the fact that they could start afresh in Middle-Earth, in the Shire or somewhere else, but Frodo merely smiled, and took her hand.

"I will see you when you depart this land, Baraz Gazardu. Make us proud." He tugged on her hand until she bowed low enough for him to kiss her forehead, then he climbed in the cart with Bilbo, who started an agitated conversation as soon as his nephew touched wood.

Merry and Pippin took that cue to assault her again, and nigh on half-an-hour later, Baraz and Fíli were climbing the way to the Misty Mountains, just as a company of thirty went over the bridge and into the Wild beyond...

* * *

"How do you feel?" came the quiet question on their third night in the Mountains. It was winter, and wood was scarse, but they had managed to light a small fire in the cover of a small cave, void of any Goblins luckily enough.

Filí had not talked to his cousin a lot since they had departed Rivendell. Baraz suspected he was buried deep in thoughts of Ceassa and the possibility of their reunion, a happy one she hoped, but she also suspected that he wanted to leave her with her own worries.

For she had loads.

Since departing from their friends and family in Imladris, Baraz had been plagued with the weight of what was needed of her one more time. She kept thinking about her own reunion with Bard so long after leaving his side, and what she'd say upon seeing him again.

So when Filí asked her how she was feeling, she really did not have a clue.

"Cold?" she answered with a smirk.

He sighed, and remained silent for a few breaths. "It's going to be alright."

Baraz did not answer. If anything, she doubted things would be. Alright.

* * *

They descended the last slope of the Misty Mountains a few days before Christmas, and when they entered Mirkwood on the newly reopened East Road, the woods were being decorated with taste by the Elflings they crossed path with.

Baraz marvelled at the sight of the Old Wood being rejuvenated. It was a sight she never thought she'd see, and one she appreciated greatly.

Every evening for a fortnight, they had company, may it be one, two, or more Elves who delighted them with tales or asked for their own. The age-old hatred between Elves and Dwarves seemed to have vanished into thin air, and Filí looked ever more comfortable being with the Sylvan Kin.

Until one day, as they edged closer to Thranduil's Halls, Baraz heard her name being called from ahead.

* * *

"_Aier!_" Despite having heard the name several times when in Elrohir and Elladan's presence, Baraz felt the name course through her veins until she whirled around, feeling light-headed with the sheer joy that filled her.

"Legolas!" The Prince was hurrying her way, a couple of females behind him, both carrying garlands of ivy and flowers that they'd no doubt hang somewhere close by. He was smiling widely, looking much happier than she had ever seen him, and when he reached her, he actually drew her into a hug.

"_Aier! Rwalaer!_ I am so glad to see you!" He moved away from Baraz and saluted Filí in the way of his people. "What an excellent surprise!"

Baraz was still stunned by the apparition, and she grinned too. "Yes, it was quite unexpected but a lovely surprise nonetheless. How fare you, old friend?"

"I could ask you the same question, my friend," he laughed, and the chime-like sound sent a pang of happiness through Baraz' veins. "Come now, we are preparing for Yule time. Tauriel will be delighted!"

* * *

Tauriel was indeed delighted and, surprisingly enough, King Thranduil allowed both Dwarflings to stay as long as they wished. He refused to speak Common Tongue to Filí, but Baraz was glad to use her elvish again, and then again, her cousin had learnt an awful lot in the two years he had been ambassador to Greenwood.

"Tell us, what's happened after we left your side?" Legolas asked the second evening, as they watched others dancing around a fire, fireflies dancing around them as well.

Baraz smiled sadly. "Alas, the Shire was plagued with Saruman's greed and wish for vengeance. Our Halfling friends and I had to fight him off, and it took some time and cunning. After which the country needed rebuilding."

"And you decided to remain there."

It wasn't a question, more of an affirmation, but she could see the surprise in Legolas' eyes, something that was legitimate since he knew of her intimate wish to be accepter by her people.

Baraz nodded. "For a while, yes. But I do not belong there anymore. I have seen too much, my soul is too tainted." Legolas nodded back, but did not add anything, for there was no need, really.

"Well, you can stay here as long as you wish, my friend."

* * *

Baraz and Filí spent Yule with the Elves. It was a great feast in other places too, but nothing compared to the Sylvan Elves' way of celebrating. Every tree was decorated, every animal was invited in a way, and there was a sense of magic in the air everytime a song was sung or a dance danced.

Then, nigh on the first day of the New Year, they left Greenwood, a promise to visit on their lips, one that was not hard to fullfill as they lived merely three days from the Mountain.

It took the two companions twice that to reach New Dale, impeded as they were with the snow covering every inch of the ground out of the forest - which had somehow retained some of the autumn's warmth.

Baraz stood under the archway indicating the bridge to the Western Gate, staring in awe at the buzzing life in the streets, even in the cold.

"They had preparing for the wedding," Filí said with gritted teeth.

Baraz swallowed the lump in her throat, and nodded. "Come, let's go back to our families." She took a pace, then two, and then stopped.

A group of Dwarven guards was walking their way, in full armour and fully armed.

"Lady Baraz Gazardu, you are summoned by our King," said their leader, and Baraz knew she had indeed been gone too long...


	37. 36, Baraz' trial

_A/N: Hello everyone! I am back with the second-to-last chapter for this amazingly torturing story... Can you imagine that I've been writing this for nearly two years now? Incredible! XD Anyway, unlike what you might think, this chapter is quite packed. ;)_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Craftsmen Dwarves and Pride of the Dwarves from the Battle for Middle-Earth OST._

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**36\. Baraz' trial**

* * *

_**2 F.A.**_

* * *

_**6th January**_

* * *

Fíli and Baraz followed the guards all the way to the Lonely Mountain, Dale's people regarding their advance with many a ushered word. Baraz could see their disbelief upon seeing her again, could see on some faces the anger too. But she held her head high. No need to show or miserable she felt inside.

She could not help but notice how much Dale had thrived since the end of the War of the Ring. The city had been almost completely rebuilt by then, dwarven masonry visible in almost every building and wall.

Dwarves and Men lived once again in harmony, and prepared for the day both of their races would be joined by the scared bond of marriage.

"Azbad Baraz Gazardu" she was welcomed - if it could be called that - at the Gate of the Mountain. She did not remember this Dwarf, slightly younger than Fíli by the looks of it, but the Prince soothed her curiosity by greeting his kin in the same cold manner.

"Grár son of Frír, welcome back to Erebor. Why is Lady Baraz summoned?"

"That I cannot say, Fíli son of Kíli," the younger Dwarf answered. Baraz hissed, for her friend was to be addressed in respect for his rank, which had not been the case. The Dwarf stared at her, ice seeping from his very eyes, before he turned to the guards. "Lead her to the Council Chambers. They are waiting for her. You," he pointed at Fíli, eliciting another hiss from Baraz, "are not invited."

Fíli advanced on his inferior, teeth bare to the world like a wolf ready to strike a very nasty prey. "Ah but see, the beauty in being a Prince, Grár, is that only the King himself can command me." He passed the offending youngster, towering over him with his dozen of years more, and followed Baraz as she was roughly lead to the room she knew so well.

* * *

It soon appeared that she had been summoned for her own trial.

Thorin Stonehelm, crown and cloak in place, sat presiding, small dark eyes heavy with fatigue and maybe also with the weight of what was asked of him. Dwalin sat to his left, as he had always done, Frír and Glóin next to him. Both glared openly at Baraz as she was shoved in front of the long table.

Some were very displeased upon seeing Fíli join the Council, taking his place at Thorin's right as was to be.

Baraz assessed the Dwarves in attendance. All present were her enemies, people who had plotted behind her back for years. No doubt that her return marked for them the beginning of the end. Some she did not know, but their stern faces and the way they gripped their swords or axes told her everything she needed.

Gimli was not there. It made her grit her teeth, for she knew how fiercely her cousin would protect her in this instance. It made her wonder what they had done to her father.

* * *

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Thorin was not the one to preside over this overdone assembly. Frír, who had seemingly gained too much power these last few years, stood, and pointed angrily at Baraz, who was by then haltered with manacles. "Azbad Baraz Bofurdottir, you are summoned here to answer for treason."

Baraz' eyes widened, but she did not utter a word. Treason? What a joke!

Fíli audibly snorted, and earned himself a warning glance from Dwalin. The tall Dwarf, who would scare any foe away, seemed to be cornered here too. "Upon what charges?" he still asked.

"Upon the charges of abandoning her King in times of need! Azbad Baraz swore an oath that she did not faithfully follow! She left Erebor, and joined the Enemy!" By then Frír was shouting, and Baraz moved swiftly, much more swiftly than any Dwarf would.

Her hair, plaited with her own breads, had regained the fire that had disgusted so many of her kin before. "I have not sworn any oath, Frír son of Drír. I left Erebor upon my King's request, with a promise to return."

"And now you return, now! To no doubt thwart the carefully sown plan to join Erebor and Dale, to no doubt kill our King and proclaim yourself Queen!"

Baraz snorted too, and she could not help but answer with one of the worst insults a Dwarf could ever give his peers. "_Kahum menu rkhas shirumundu, Frír!_" _**Your clan are beardless orcs!**_

There was a great commotion during which everyone stood, enemy or not, and started shouting either at her or at Thorin, who had stood too, looking weary and battleworn. He looked much older now, as if all these petty arguments had taken their toll on his youth.

"Enough!" finally came the call. All eyes turned to Dwalin, mighty Dwalin who towered over each Dwarf in the room. "Let the King speak!"

Frír tried to speak, to counter the demand, but Dwalin stroked the hilt of the dagger he wore at his belt, and the general sat, vanquished for now.

Thorin remained standing, the weight of his cloak hindering him so much he shed it. He looked at Baraz in a way he had never done before. With pity. "Azbad Baraz Gazardu. I have appointed you member of my Royal Council. Did you or did you not swear your oath before departing for the Men's City?"

Baraz shook her head. "I did not, _Thanu men_." _**My King.**_

Thorin nodded. "Then I don't see why you are retained here. You may go." He sat back down, Frír and another Dwarf she did not know coming to his side right away while Fíli hurried to hers.

"You need to go. Somewhere safe," he whispered. Baraz nodded. It seemed like most of Erebor was plotting against her. Did they fear she would have more influence over Thorin than they would? "Go to Bard."

At that she froze, colour leaving her cheeks. "I-I cannot, Fíl. He will not want me."

He sighed. "Go, I beg of you. You are not safe in here." He kissed her brow and turned back to the King, who was assaulted with angry talks about how she needed to be executed and so on. Baraz turned her back on the sight, and hurried outside.

She would not go to Bard.

She needed to find her father. And Gimli.

* * *

Baraz remembered the halls of her forefathers well, and managed to avoid meeting any unwanted Dwarf all the way to her father's workshop. She entered, but the foyer had not been lit in so long the cold had seeped into the room and started eating at the carefully made toys stored there.

She ran next to the kitchens, but her uncle was nowhere to be seen.

As a last resort, Baraz ran to Norí's quarters. Her uncle was not there either, but his wife, Ída, answered the door, eyes widening upon seeing her and ushering her inside before someone could see.

"Baraz, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"Ída, do you know where my father is?" Baraz asked in a worried and hurried voice. The Dwarrowdam sighed and moved away from the door, leading the younger female further into the small room.

"Bofur, Bombur and Norí have been taken a few weeks ago. Gimli also, as I was made aware. We think they are in the dungeons, but we are not sure."

"We?"

Ída nodded. "The King and I. Thorin is surrounded by greedy generals. Even more now that Kíli and his father are dead. He is powerless. It's a miracle they have not killed him yet."

Baraz gritted her teeth. "So his command of releasing me is probably not going to hold much longer. I need to find them! Have you tried entering the dungeons?"

Ída nodded. "I've got a friend working there. They are not in the cells. But he does not know who might have been lead to the Dragon Prison."

Baraz shuddered. After Smaug's death, the lower and deeper parts of Erebor, where had died thousands of their kin during Smaug's occupation, had been turned into prisons, where water and food came only once a week if lucky. "If they are there..." she did not finish, but Ída nodded, agreeing with her silent thought that they might be dead.

"You need to go, Baraz. If they find you here...we both are dead. Go to Dale, you have friends there. The Princess, Sigrid, she took over your old officine. Go and hide there!" Ída lead her to the door and, after checking if no one was lurking in the corridors, she shoved her out.

* * *

As Baraz erupted from the Mountain from a side-door - more like one of the infamous balconies her mother had once escaped by - she could not stop thinking about what had happened during her absence.

Thorin was undeniably less strong than his father, fearsome Daín, who had for unknown reasons always accepted Baraz' presence in his halls. But that he had been manipulated so thoroughly by his generals, turned into a pawn by a group of greedy murderers, she could not fathom it.

And now, her father and uncles, her cousin most likely too, were imprisoned in the deadliest prison of Erebor.

Baraz ajusted the hood of her cloak and cursed in Elvish. The War was over, but how many battles would she have to fight until peace finally came?

She turned the angle to a street, then another. Dale was silent. Silently unsheathing her short dagger, Baraz prepared herself to erupt in her supposed hide-away's street.

And got knocked out by the blunt side of an axe...


	38. 37, The parting of ways

_A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the slight delay, but I got writer's block for a second in this final chapter, until I finally could put the final flourish on this marvelous story. I took an immense pleasure in writing this for the past two years, improving as a writer as I got along, improving as a Tolkien fan at the same time. Baraz was a character both exhiliratingly easy and excruciatingly difficult to write. But her journey is at an end now, and I will let you enjoy it._

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this chapter: **Pride of the Dwarves from the Battle for Middle-Earth II OST; City of Esgaroth from The Desolation of Smaug's OST; and Into the West from the Return of the King OST._

* * *

**37\. The parting of ways**

* * *

_**2 F.A.**_

* * *

_**8th January**_

* * *

When Baraz came to, she realised several things at once. First: she had a massive headache where she had been struck by the axe. Second: there was quite a number of people around her, as the buzzing noise of conversation revealed. Third: it smelled like death.

"She's awake!" whispered a voice nearby - so near, in fact, that it was clear its owner was kneeling next to her.

Baraz' brain seemed to recognize the voice, for she groaned and opened a heavy eyelid then the other, revealing a dimly lit room and mostly, the face of her father.

"Da!" she exclaimed in a hoarse voice. She tried to sit up but her skull felt like it was going to split open. So she lay back down, and let Bofur carefully envelop her in his arms.

His hat was missing, and his hair was entirely silver by then, the plaits falling in disarray onto his shoulders. But the life in his grey eyes was still there, and it put a small smile on her face that soon turned sour.

"Da...I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to-" she did not really know what she didn't mean to do, for she had little thought about her father's well-being during those past two years, but he surely knew and shook his head.

"What's done is done, lass. Now, yer 'ere, and yer not wanted." There was a chuckle next to them, and Baraz saw her uncle Bombur, sitting on the floor, strangely still fat enough to feed an entire army. He pointed to his brother then him then the rest of the room, and Bofur chuckled too. "As are we, brot'er, yer right."

For the first time, Baraz looked around, and gasped.

* * *

Smaug had done his deed well, there was no denying it. Once upon a time, this room must have been a weaponry of some sort, for there still was the marks of pegs in the walls and remnants of steel that had since then withered into rust.

But more impressive than the room itself, was the number of people gathered in it. There was a good hundred of Dwarves, male, female, children. She dimly recognized some of them, crafstmen or maidens all more or less close to the Mountain and its King.

In one far corner, had been piled the skeletons of the Dwarves who had died during the Dragon days. All rotting flesh had since long disappeared, but the bone were still there, taunting, terrible sights. Like a warning that they'd end up like this too.

Baraz turned to her father once she could sit properly, the throbbing in her head dmimming a bit. "What happened here?"

"It's been like this fer a few mont's now," he said, sighing. "People started disappearin', families, children, and when we started askin' too many questions, they put us 'ere too. Even poor Gimli couldn' convince his father. Idiots, the lo' of 'em!"

Baraz then started frantically to look for her former companion, looking for the mess of his red hair or for a plait in which shone three golden hair belonging to an Elven Lady. She found none. "Where is he?" A lump had formed in her throat, an uneasy one.

"'e's tendin' to Nori and the rest of the sick. Come, I'll take you to 'em."

* * *

It was incredible that some children had been brought to such a prison at such a young age that they still fed on their mother's breast. Baraz felt sick to her stomach just thinking about how many must have died in the previous weeks.

Bofur quietly told her that food came every few days, and that they never had any means to know if it was day or night. The bodies of those who succumbed were brought outside, given a desecrated tomb as per the Counsel's order.

Nori was lying on a mattress made of old clothes, his face pale, his breathing uneven. He suffered from severe dehydration, she quickly realised. A figure she immediately recognized was sitting next to him, staring at his chest that was slowly rising and falling.

"Gimli..." she whispered while her father helped her down next to her somehow cousin - although what Glóin had done to his son had forever broken the sense of kinship she had had for him all her life.

The Dwarf raised his head, dark eyes sad in a way they had never been during the Quest. Even when they lost Boromir, even when they lost Merry and Pippin. Even when they lost Gandalf.

He didn't say a word, but nodded gravely before going back to his silen vigil. Baraz reached for his arm and kept on holding it, staring at her uncle's form as well.

* * *

Time passed, she did not know how long, and its monotony was only broken by Nori's brief moments of clarity during which Baraz and Gimli gave him some water to sip on.

When the supplies started to get dangerously low, there was an echoing clamour in the room, of chains being rattled, and the great wooden doors were cracked open, letting a dozen guards enter, half of which moved further in to check on the prisoner's health and to distribute food.

One got close enough for Baraz to reach him as he examined the still form of a child - who thankfully was merely asleep, bless him.

"Excuse me, but has the Royal Wedding already taken place?" It was the only thing she dared ask, and the only thing that could tell her exactly what day they were.

The Dwarf looked at her with disdain and answered. "It is tomorrow morning. Not that you are invited, half-breed..."

Baraz closed her eyes on the insult, and reached for her necklace. There still sat her mother's ring, which was matted enough to not be recognized for what it was: an Elven ring. "May I ask that you bring this to Azbad Ceassa? As a gift from my clan."

It was touch and go. In Dwarven traditions, each clan had to offer a gift to their King or Queen during a Royal Wedding. This was no exception, even if Ceassa was marrying Bard, a human. But nothing told her the guard would agree to the old tradition.

He glared at the ring for a few moments, but then he snatched it from her hand and stared at her. "Do you have any message for our Lady?"

Baraz could have sighed in relief. She smiled and said, "Tell her that I wish that this ring pleases her and her husband-to-be, and that it would honour me that she wore it for the ceremony."

The guard nodded, then growled and moved back to the entrance. Baraz sighed and sat back down.

* * *

From then on started the wait. Minutes, hours, days, weeks? Baraz could not tell how long had passed since the guard had left with her gift and her message.

What she prayed for was that Ceassa showed the ring to Bard, and that he, knowing what it was, would then understand she had come back. But that, too, was touch and go. Bard might not want to see her again, might not stop a whole celebration for the sake of just freeing her.

"Yer cannot wait like this forever, Baraz." She had been sitting facing the door for what seemed like a whole lifetime when her father came to stand by her.

What was more surprising was that her uncle Bombur, Gimli, and a couple of other males she did not know, where there too, dark circles under their eyes that were filled with resolve.

"What would you have me do?" she asked in a whisper.

"Fight!" Gimli said, throwing a fist in the air, "as we did in Moria, as we did in Parth Galen, as we did before Fangorn!" Baraz stood, and he stared at her hard. "You are Azbad Gazardu! You saved Dale and Erebor from Sauron's armies! You are a war hero, not a damsel in distress!"

There was no need for an answer. Baraz nodded once, tears prickling her eyes at the trust her friend was placing in her, but refusing to shed them for she needed strength now, not weakness.

"Let's try and find weapons then."

* * *

Of course, Frír and his minions had removed every proper weapon that had once been present in their jail, but Baraz and her companions were craftmen, and could make anything look dangerous.

Gimli managed to salvage a plaque of old armour from the pile of bodies, and started grinding it slowly into the shape of an axe-head. Bombur was breaking wood into spears that one of the youngest males - one named Astár - tried to make as pointy as a real one. Bofur and the second male - Drór - were piling rocks and making slingshots.

Baraz stood watch. She would have given a lot to have her trusted bow at her side, and felt naked without it as she surveyed the five guards at the door.

Time stood still while they worked, until some time before dawn, although they would not have known, one guard shouted at the others. All five, safe for one, hurried down the corridor, and soon, the unmistakeable sound of steel against steel was heard.

Bofur came with a slingshot, Bombur with a spear, and Gimli with his home-made axe. All three protected Baraz as best they could, until the fifth guard launched himself into the fight. His wounded body flew back into view before a bloody Fíli appeared, followed by an equally bloody Sigrid. Both looked ready to kill. And they both had.

"Fíl? Sigrid?" Baraz could not believe her eyes. It was certain to her that her best friend would have been imprisoned in a similar fashion as herself, and yet here he stood, opening locks and gates to free his kin.

Sigrid launched herself into Baraz' arms. At almost eighteen, she had grown in height and also in beauty. And, it seemed, also in swordsmanship. "We received your message," she said in a trembling voice, "we thought they had killed you without a trial."

"No, they did keep me alive, for whatever reason," she answered with a small smile as she eyed Fíli. "Two against a whole army?"

He smiled and hugged her as tight as he had ever done before. "Two are stealthier than a hundred. Come now, we have to stop the ceremony."

"But..." Baraz stopped their advance in the corridor, "Sigrid...you should be there!"

The princess scowled. "I have not taken part in my brother's life since the announce. His and King Thorin's counsellors forbade that I see him until after the marriage. I was estranged by my own brother..." She sighed. "My mother is also prisoner into the palace. I shall go to her next."

Baraz' eyes widened. What had this world turned into that their own people had become their worst enemy?!

Fíli finally pushed something familiar into her hands, and she smiled when she realised it was her beloved bow. "Come, Azbad Baraz. Your people await."

She looked back, and Gimli had already retrieved an axe from the guards. Bofur and Bombur remained back. "We'll look after the ot'ers." Her father smiled proudly, and she followed her companions.

* * *

Sigrid had become almost as battle-hardened as if she had fought in the Battle of Dale two years prior. Althought she had been present, Baraz would have thought that she had been preserved by its bloodthirst. It seemed that the princess had become a warrior soon after, though.

She was wearing a leather corset reminiscent of Tauriel's over her beige dress, and had two daggers haltered at her left hip. Her curved sword shone in her left and good hand, and her long hair had been laced back.

Baraz stared at her as they climbed into the levels, and she realised how much Sigrid resembled her now...and it made her some kind of sad.

* * *

Erebor was dark as Baraz was led into the upper level and to freedom. Fíli revealed that he and Sigrid had used the Back Door to enter, the door that had been used by his father and Baraz' parents during their Quest. It had been breached open a few months earlier by a small earthquake, and none had noticed.

They met little people on their way up and out. Some guards, some residents, but not enough to say that the whole Mountain was buzzing with life. It looked like an empty shell.

When they squeezed through the small passage and into the rising sun, Baraz' eyes burnt. She had to get accustomed to sunlight again, but also to the sight she was given. From there, she could see the whole Desolation, and New Dale's closest walls. It was as magnificent as it was frightening.

That feeling she had felt two years prior was back.

That feeling of being under siege.

"Sigrid will take you to her hideaway. You can refresh and eat there. Gimli and I will quickly go to free the others, some people who'll be assets if we want to overthrow the Council. We'll be quick." Fíli nodded at Gimli and both went back inside, while the two women remained out.

"Come, Baraz. It'll soon be over." Sigrid smiled sadly and jumped forward the go down the steep slope. Baraz followed, a lump forming in her throat.

* * *

Sigrid had left her old officine after all, preferring to lodge in an abandoned warehouse close to where the Battle had taken place. It was in a still relatively empty neighbourhood, and it was easy to pass unnoticed to the few guards patrolling there.

Sigrid had made her hide-away a lovely nest, with one corner made for her healing supplies, another for sleeping, and another for eating. She directly grabbed an apple for herself and threw one at Baraz. Who stared at the fruit before slowly eating it. It was delicious.

"Sit. I'll bring fresh water from the well," the princess said, and she grabbed a pail with which she disappeared outside.

A question was nagging Baraz' mind, and she waited until her benefactor was back to ask it while she was removing her soiled clothes to refresh herself a bit.

"Sigrid, if I may ask... You said you received my message but...it was intended to your brother."

"Ceassa reached us when she received it. I'm not sure Bard knows you're here." Sigrid said sadly, before handing her a fresh shirt. "He'll be surprised."

"How...how is he?" Baraz dared ask. Her heart was doing funny things in her chest and she wasn't sure at all she was ready for the answer.

Sigrid smiled sadly again. "He understood your choice. But kept on hoping. His betrothal took something away though. I could not recognze him in the end. He had lost the will to fight. A king...how fitting," she added with a growl.

Baraz dressed into fresh clothes, and let Sigrid brush her hair, wondering what she'd say if she ever was brought in front of the man she had tried and failed to forget. Did she still love him like she thought she had so long ago? Did he? Would he still want to marry her?

The most important was to stop the wedding and stop all those who had taken reign over the Mountain. To make Erebor prosper again, and to make Fíli happy. The rest could wait and was not important.

* * *

Fíli and Gimli arrived an hour later, as the two women were eating and sipping on warm tea. Fíli was very satisfied with himself, having freed most of Thorin's partisans, and having made 'permanently unavailable' some of Frír's followers.

Both refreshed themselves too, and Gimli and Baraz talked about those times in the Golden Wood, and of the Lady of Light, and of...Legolas.

"D'yer reckon he remembers me?" the Dwarf asked once the Greenwood prince was brought up.

Baraz smiled. "I bet all of my small fortune that there is no forgetting one's best friend, and you two were surely made for each other!" she laughed. "I saw him on my way here. He misses you and wished to visit later in the year, knowing you would not go to his father's halls."

Gimli's nose turned up in disgust, but he nodded. "I could bear the wood, but not the Tree-Hugger." Fíli chuckled at the bile in his voice, and soon, Baraz too was laughing.

It was so foreign it felt weird to laugh again.

* * *

"It's time." Sigrid had been standing by the door for hours, and as the sun reached eleven in the morning, she moved back inside, signifying that the wedding ceremony would soon begin.

Fíli nodded. "There'll be a lot of guards from both cities around the palace. We'll need to either be quick enough for Bard to see you, Baraz; or willing to kill more than needed.

Baraz frowned. "I don't want anyone to die. There has been too many deaths already."

All three others seemed surprised at her words, but nodded nonetheless. Sigrid then sighed. "I can show you a way into the palace. But we may meet some resistance." She paused. "There's an underground way to the kitchens."

Fíli's brow furrowed as if he was in deep thought. "We need to draw them out."

Baraz was about to suggest being used as bait, but Gimli beat her to it. "The Prince and I can stand guard with Thorin's loyal followers outside, raise a bit of a riot. You ladies can sneak in and stop this whole stupid thing!"

Fíli agreed with a stern nod, and Sigrid did the same before sheathing her long sword back at her right hip. "Baraz, you'll need weapons," she said before turning to a corner of her hideaway. "We could not retrieve your quiver, as it was surely destroyed, but I brought you one of ours."

Baraz silently thanked the princess for her gift, for Dale's arrows were as deadly as any Elf's. Sigrid nodded back then her face took a more sour look.

"Let's go. I long to see the look on that Rock-Shagger's face when we stop his rise to power!" Baraz had half a mind to scowl at the insult, but when she remembered Frír treason, she could only grunt in approval.

A quick hug from both Fíli and Gimli was all she received before both were out the door, and Sigrid soon followed, slithering between buildings as if she was made of shadows rather than flesh.

* * *

Baraz followed the Princess through alleyways and streets she did not remember ever visiting, despite her long years, and after less than ten minutes, she was presented with what looked like the entrance to a sewer.

Sigrid pointed at the grate. "This is our way in. It was used to sneak supplies out of the palace if we were under siege." She pushed the rusted grate aside, and let Baraz slide in before she closed it behind them both.

The tunnel was very small in height, but wide enough for entire wagons to be herded through. They made their way bent at the waist and into the darkness, Sigrid leading the way in the dark as if she had used this secret entrance countless times before. Baraz realised she probably had when she was a child.

After a good couple of turns and a long walk, Sigrid stopped, a hand raised as she assessed the noises around. Baraz could hear the faint buzzing of life nearby, and noticed a smell sweeter than the stale air of the tunnel. Sigrid lowered her hand, and they advanced a couple of feet more, before the Princess stopped right under a hidden latch.

She looked at Baraz. "Some of the servants would have remained loyal to my family. Let me speak, and pretend to be of no importance. I doubt they'd remember you." Baraz nodded, and Sigrid stood straighter to push the latch open.

They erupted right in the royal kitchens, a huge hall filled with ovens, fires and tables filled with food. All work had stopped when the latch to their hidden place had opened, and soon, the face of a cook appeared above them. It was a women of a certain age, whose face lit up upon seeing Sigrid. "It's our Princess!" she exclaimed, and most of the kitchen then erupted in cheers.

Both Sigrid and Baraz were soon helped up into the room, and the Princess was indeed swallowed by a crowd of loyal servants who did not silence their anger towards the Dwarves and their Counsel and their decisions. She herself passed beautifully unnoticed.

"We need to stop our King's wedding," Sigrid finally said above the clamours. "Do you know where the ceremony is hosted?"

"They took 'im to the King's office," one lad said with a growl, "no one's invited."

Sigrid nodded with a fire in her eyes Baraz had never seen before. "I promise you, when our King Bard gets married, all of Dale will be present." She then gestured Baraz to follow and they exited the kitchen.

* * *

"We have to get upstairs," the young woman said with gritted teeth once they were in the corridor. "Using the servant's stairs would be too risky."

Baraz placed a hand on her arm. "The boys would have done their job by now. The entrance hall should not be guarded."

Sigrid nodded in agreement, and lead her up the corridor, taking two turns before she slowed down and unsheathed her sword. Baraz took it as her cue to notch an arrow.

The hall was not empty as they had hoped, but most of the commotion was happening in front of the doors anyway, and they could pass unnoticed by most from where they stood towards the tall stairs.

All was well until they reached the top of said stairs. A good six Dwarves stood there, axes and spears held high, guarding the door behind which was Bard. Sigrid growled, the sound akin to an angered wolf, and launched herself at the closest guard who, upon seeing her, raised the alarm.

"We're under attack!" he yelled before a slash of a curved blade ended his life.

Baraz was feeling sick to her stomach as she fired her own arrows to stop the guards from striking her young friend. She did not kill, merely wounded, disgusted at the thought of ending the life of one of her own kin. Sigrid did not have her scrupules, slashing through them with a ferocity that Baraz hoped never to see again in the young one, until one particular blade stopped at her throat and stopped her advance.

"Princess Sigrid...how quaint," he drawled, and Baraz recognized Grár, son of Frír. "This is, I'm afraid, the last mistake you make."

Baraz notched an arrow and called his name, distracting the Dwarf long enough for Sigrid to shake free of his deadly grasp. His black eyes lit with fury and bloodthirst, and he raised his axe.

He fell dead a second later, an arrow embedded deep in his own throat. Baraz approached the choking figure, and spat on it. "My cousin is thrice the man you've ever been."

Sigrid nodded her thanks, and then both turned to the door. They could hear a commotion right behind it, but was it the wedding and an argumen taking place or rather a royal guard taking their stand, they did not know.

"For Dale," Sigrid whispered, and she kicked the door open.

* * *

Baraz emptied her quiver in the first few seconds. It had quickly appeared that Frír's personal guard-dogs and some of the Counsellors had taken up arms, and were trying to stop the two swordswomen who were attacking them.

She realised she had not brought a sword when one was gently pushed in her hand, and she looked to the side, where she found Fíli, Gimli, and a group of bloodied soldiers. All chanted "For Erebor!" before they joined the fight.

Baraz followed, slashing a way across as best she could, until Gimli's hand found her arm. "Lassie, you must go! Now! We've got this!"

She nodded, and hurried towards the wall of the crowded room, trying to find Sigrid in this crazy mess. She found the tall Daughter of Men at the opposite side of her, in a doorway, two guards altering her roughly. In front of her, Baraz could make the brown hair of someone she suddenly was very afraid to see again.

"Baraz!" Sigrid yelled then, before being roughly handled and pulled inside. It made her realise that her fears were the least of her worries, and she pushed forward until she reached the same door, now closed.

It was easy to open it, for someone helped from the other side. It was also very easy to get lost in the deep blue of the Man now facing her.

* * *

"Bard..." she whispered, tears springing to her eyes as she was finally breaking down. Her sword fell to the ground, clanking loudly, and still he stared at her, seemingly unable to believe she was really there.

"This is an outrage!" came a raging call from within, and Bard was shoved aside by a fuming Frír, who slapped her across the face. "You are a spawn of Sauron!" he spat in her face.

Baraz looked at her feet for a second before all the anger and loathing she felt for this person rose in her blood and she looked up at him, towering over him with a grace she had not shown in months. "And you, Frír, are not better than Orc's dung!" She pushed him backwards until he stumbled into the room and she followed, now facing the almost entire Erebor Council, her King, and Dale's generals as well. "You, Frír, have turned your own people against their King in an attempt to usurp the throne. You, Frír, have tortured and murdered women and children. You, Frír," she added in an almost whisper, "have lost this battle."

Behind her, she could feel her cousins standing proud, weapons aloft.

The rebellion had been tamed.

* * *

Frír's face started getting redder and redder by the second, until he turned to Thorin behind them. "Your Majesty, surely you do not believe this whore to be-"

"This...whore, as you say, dear general, has once again saved Erebor from a fate worse than death. One I was not able to stop." Thorin advanced in the room until he faced Baraz. "I am sorry, _Azbadu men_."

She shook her head. "Don't be, _Thanu men_. All men can be betrayed by their closest friends when their hearts are in somber places." She smiled sadly, then turned to Frír again. "This...shambles...will not take place. You will relieve Lady Ceassa from this betrothal that was forced upon her, and you will agree to her marriage to Fíli, son of Kíli. Now."

There was a concert of whispers around the room, even from those loyal to the Mountain's monarch, and then, Frír smirked. "And what about your own wish, Lady Baraz? For surely this little speech of yours is missing an important part!"

He did not voice it aloud, but Baraz could guess, and her eyes turned to where Bard stood, still entranced by her appearance. She stared deep in his blue eyes, and swallowed audibly. "I cannot force Bard, King of Dale, to marry me, and I will not dishonour him in repeating the mistake I made by leaving his side in times of need. What I did today was not for my sake, but for my dearest friend's, his beloved's, and my two people's."

"Aye aye!" Dwalin said from wherever he was, and then, Fíli pushed past her, hurrying to Ceassa's side where he took her in his arms tenderly. Both were weeping.

Baraz smiled at the sight. When Frír was removed from her side, the smile faded. She bowed the head in respect towards her King, and turned to leave.

* * *

"_Azbadu men!_" came the call before she could reach the door. She turned to see Ceassa approach her. She was indeed a lovely dwarrowdam with barely a hint of a beard. She looked both fragile and strong, and Baraz knew Fíli had chosen very well. "Will you do us the honour to marry us?" she asked in a small voice, and Fíli smiled widely from across the room.

Baraz smiled back, avoiding the eyes of the Man who had come to stand to her right. "I will. With pleasure."


	39. Epilogue: Happier times

_A/N: And this is it. This is the end of Iell Pentin, the longest of my stories so far and by far the most emotional. I thank everyone who has read this, reviewed, and put alerts on this work. You made this possible as much as me. I also thank Master Tolkien for giving me the strength and inspiration to work on his master-piece; and Tom Burke for being such an amazing actor he inspired me Bard King of Dale._

_Now enjoy. #OneLastTime_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__** Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.**_

* * *

_**Playlist for this last chapter: **The Last Goodbye, from The Battle of the Five Armies OST._

* * *

**Epilogue: Happier times**

* * *

_**Some time during the Fourth Age**_

* * *

_**Dale**_

* * *

Fíli, Prince of Erebor, and Ceassa, Lady of the Mountain, were married in presence of all those who mattered, in a small room belonging to a human king.

Soon after, they announced the arrival of a baby, who happened to be two babies, one boy, named Kíli after his grand-father, and one girl, Ariana, after one sorely-missed aunt. Baraz was appointed godmother, a role she took very seriously.

Thorin, King under the Mountain, called upon the systematic execution of all those who had betrayed him during what was soon called The Fell Days. Frír was beheaded a few days after his missed coup d'état, before a leering crowd. His line ended with him. Baraz was not present.

Nori improved in health rapidly after, having been tended to by Queen Talia herself. The Queen Mother spent most of her days tending to those in need anyway, in an attempt to make up for lost time. Her grey hair had turned entirely white during her captivity, and she was thus called the White Queen.

Bofur, Bombur and Gimli were appointed at the King's Council, replacing the Parjures and Glóin, who retired to the Iron Hills for his penance.

Sigrid, the warrior princess, returned to her studies of healing, and travelled across Middle-Earth to come back with new remedies. She settled down in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, where she met Aragorn who became her mentor.

* * *

What about Baraz then?

Baraz mended her relationship with the Mountain, refusing to take back her place at Thorin's Council. She went back to her small officine, and took to teach children about Middle-Earth's History and its greatest heroes.

She also mended, albeit slowly, her relationship with a certain King.

At first, it was all looks and silences, before she finally found the courage to talk to him and apologize for her unforgiving behaviour. He did not say a word, but took her hand for a second before leaving.

Then they started talking again, having conversations about the world, their adventures, life, Dale. Bard talked about his sister, about his mother, but never about the urge of his generals to get him finally married.

Bard was 33 years of age when he asked Baraz to marry him again. It was done quietly, in an orchard, as she picked pears for the royal kitchens. They hadn't kissed since their stolen times six years earlier. They did then. Baraz agreed to become Dale's Queen, despite her fears.

She was 79 years old.


End file.
